Take a mile
by LittleMissAfflicted
Summary: 'A girl coccooned in a pink bathrobe walks towards the center of the room. I watch her unwrap herself like a present and drop the fluffy censor onto a nearby chair.' In which the football head and bully are reunited after years apart- as art student and subject. Rated M.
1. Draw me like one of your french girls

_Soooo I did a thing. If you didn't know I'm a 90s baby, you do now. When I read that Nick is going to FINALLY make the Hey Arnold! movie that we never got (google it!) I flipped my shit. I love that show. They kept it so real, and the characters were so fleshed out and human for a kid's show. After watching a few episodes on Hulu this just sort of... happened. Like word vomit. Viva la 90s revival!_

 _ **Warning:** A solid enough 'M' for everything besides violence. Read at your own risk._

 _ **Disclaimer:** I don't own Hey Arnold! but I love it to bits_

* * *

"Yo. Wake. The. Fuck. Up."

A poke. A shove. A snap of fingers right beside my ear.

Was my best friend trying to die young?

"Eh c'mon man. You think I like waking you up? You slept through the alarm. You really wanna piss off Monsieur Croissant de cafe au laite?"

I rub my eyes and chuckle, because I don't have enough voice for a full laugh yet. At least not until there's coffee in my system.

"You're gonna run out of random french words to call him eventually Gerald."

"Non non, ma cherie," he says in that rough snarl that americans think (wrongly) all frenchmen have. "Cecile taught me a little and it stuck."

"Penpal Cecile? Damn, that was years ago."

I rummage through my drawers and fish out a folded plaid shirt and jeans. It amazes other guys that I actually fold my clothes, but if they'd grown up with my Grandma and her threats of 'Extra Easter' if I had a messy room, they might have understood. I still have no idea what the hell that means, but Grandpa promised I shouldn't try to find out.

Cecile remains another unsolved mystery. I had met her, true, but only after meeting the other her. A girl who's real name I never got. It's too much of a mindfuck this early in the day. Something about digging up old memories makes you feel fuzzy. Like you can't be sure which you- past or present- is the real one. Some people call it nostalgia. Nah. Mindfuck.

I walk through a mist of cologne ("Mm, mm, mm, Arnold. Burberry? You like your chick spritz classy." Were Gerald's words. I just happen to like this smell. Don't really care how anyone else feels about it.) and yank hair away from my face. "What did happen that night with you two?"

"Some expert level hand holding and cheeseburger eating. You know how I do."

"Yeah, yeah. Save some smooth for me." I blow him a kiss while picking up my backpack, the edges of my sketchbooks peeking out of a zipper. Gerald and I are so close that anyone who takes our joking seriously is clearly not someone who's known us very long.

"Ohohoho! Oui monsieur."

The kitchen smells like a Starbucks. In other words so damn good that I know our third roommate is awake.

"Lee, have I told you that I might marry you instead of Gerald?"

My favorite green mug is already filled with black coffee and heaps of sugar. I grab it and Lee shakes his black manbun at me (which is only tolerated because Gerald still sports ridiculously tall hair) and rolls his eyes.

"Shut up and drink up. Monsieur said this class is 'tres important on our quest to further develop our artistry', remember. Your ass is lucky I take mercy on you."

"Be nice Julie." Gerald snickers as he walks by us to fetch himself some toast.

Lee's full name is Julian, courtesy of his mom. She'd been told it was going to be a girl and called her belly Julie for nine months only to have a little penis shoved into her arms. Her exact words. Lee is a better guy than most. He hooks me up with his free coffee barista privileges on the regular. We take some of the same classes because we're both studying for some sort of art based career. Lee knows what he wants to do: design video games, and he's full of promise. He even got Gerald a marketing internship at the company that gave him his. Basically he's just the best thing ever, and we love him like a brother.

"Alright," I gulp my liquid sustenance down. "Let's head out."

"Have fun drawing wrinkly old dudes." Gerald snickers and gets toast crumbs everywhere.

We both groan. "Shut the hell up."

Everybody looks half alive on campus. I mean it is seven thirty in the morning. Seven forty five when Lee and I walk into the isolated, corner-of-the-building classroom. Our teacher, who goes strictly by Monsieur Brevéux, is a french artist who specializes in portraits and dabbles in critique (that some people would kill to have). It was a pain in the ass to apply for his class. And now here we all are. Zombified at our desks and on the verge of our first nude model.

"Bonjour class!" Brevéux claps enthusiastically. He's... Whimsical. ("Gay, Arnold." Lee had scoffed. "He's as straight as a bendy straw.") "As you know today we will have a study in human anatomy. The sort that makes most of you giggle uncontrollably. In order to draw a body accurately I need to see that you can immerse yourself in it. Remember that you too are made of lovely bone and skin and bring it to life for me. See how it shapes your signature, if it isn't what you are partial to drawing. Curtains drawn?"

He asks no one in particular. The heavy looking navy blue drapes are shut tight. "Wonderful. Our model then."

It's not a wrinkly old guy.

Not even close.

A girl coccooned in a pink bathrobe walks towards the center of the room. I watch her unwrap herself like a present and drop the fluffy censor onto a nearby chair.

 _Holy fuck_.

She's overwhelming. At first glance milky skin and gentle curves and legs that go on forever. I study her from bottom to top: Pink toe nails. Smooth legs. Soft looking thighs. She's clean shaven even there, and it makes me flush like an amateur. Taut stomach decorated by a plain metal belly piercing. Tits so ridiculously round and perky that if they were any bigger I would have thought them fake. Rosy nipples that nearly match the toe polish. Collarbones that stand out and sweep up towards her long neck.

It takes me mere moments to soak all that in. Detail is what I love. It's what makes a drawing worthwhile to me. What breathes the story into it. So I ignore the twitch in my jeans and look up at her face. Or her head, really. There's alot of thick, shiny blonde hair in the way. She pushes it behind her ears and I feel my stomach drop.

I knew those blue eyes once.

I've felt that mouth, way before it was the lush pair of lips that might just make me cream myself like a damn kid.

It's-

"I know that look." Lee says quietly with a raised brow.

"H-huh?"

"That's the 'been there fucked that' face. I for one am both shocked and proud Shortman. She's killer."

"N-no, I mean, I haven't... I just know her." I whisper furiously. Still blushing. What the hell.

"Explain."

 _"... Helga."_

"OH SH-! Choo!"

Lee turns his outburst into a fake sneeze like the slick bastard he is, complete with a fake little rub at his nose.

"Sorry. Cold coming on."

Our teacher merely pardons him with a wave of his hand. The look in Lee's eyes says I'll be explaining alot later.

For now I have to draw Helga. Who I haven't seen in years. Utterly naked.

My pencil is a little shaky as I begin dragging it across the sketch pad I've pulled out from my bag. It's hard to pick a place to start with her. I feel this sudden need to draw her exactly as she stands, down to the little mole by her left ankle.

I breathe out and imagine it's someone else... A stranger... Every distancing thought brings more sweeps of lead onto the page. Her body doesn't take me long to flesh out but I linger on the little things. Two in particular: Her long-gone monobrow that's been groomed into two thick arches, framing her face in a way that makes me stare at it that much harder. And her lips. God, they're something else. Full like a girl who managed to do the Kylie Jenner lip thing without screwing it up. I try not to dwell on how I'd like to imagine them on my dick. That can wait until I'm alone at least. Which I look foward to, because the hard on I've got is starting to get downright uncomfortable.

"C'est magnifique, Arnold!"

Brevéux creeps up behind and startles the soul out of me.

"This is what I meant, exactly! Such strong lines but lush detail... You draw her like a familiarity. Like an extension. Even the human flaws look lovely." He says to the room, "Strive for accuracy. But do not be afraid of reinventing yourselves. Of putting yourself in the place of someone else when you draw your targets. It is through the eyes of others that we see more... Julian. What on earth is that."

I look over at his sketch book. Of course, video game junkie that he is, Lee's drawn her face beautifully but placed it onto the body of a battle vixen. Exaggerated curves, spear, and all.

"Reality isn't my strong suit." He shrugs with a winning smile. Some of the girls in class giggle. I just shake my head before hyper awareness hits me like a punch to the gut. Helga is staring at me with wide blue eyes and cheeks that weren't that pink when we began. I can see her stomach draw in as she breathes. Is she nervous? Does she recognize me? Shit...

* * *

I didn't bargain for this when I signed up to be a nude model.

It'll count as your art credit, they said. Your name will be kept confidential, they said. You probably won't know a single student in that department, they said. It seemed low-risk enough. Let people draw me so I wouldn't have to bullshit my way through drawing others.

Maybe it is just a small world after all, though. How else could I be staring Arnold Shortman in the face while wearing nothing but my pride?

At first I thought I was seeing things, but the look of him is unmistakable. I stare at him almost as hard as he's been staring at me. Granted, this is a mandatory assignment. But something about it seems mutual.

God, he's changed and hasn't all at once. I haven't seen him since... Well. A while.

He got tall. Not ramen noodle tall. Good tall. Look up for a kiss tall. Lean meat on the bone tall. Eyes are

green as a meadow, practically glowing from the contrast of his red and navy flannel shirt. His hair is still a straw-blonde mess, but the kind that makes you want to touch it. I can barely believe it when I notice but he actually ditched the little blue hat. I watch the muscles in his arm flex as he draws and realize that what was once an old fantasy of my younger self has manifested as a nightmare. A beautiful, insane nightmare.

There's no way he doesn't recognize me. And as if that wasn't bad enough he licks his lower lip while focusing on his sketching and it makes my nipples tighten instantly.

I pretend it's just the air around my naked body making me chilly. Not the freakish pull that Arnold has on my gaze. I want to stare at him like he's the naked one, and that's how I know that I must be a far cry from normal.

I watch the french art teacher (Mister Baguette? Hell if I know. Not my class) tap his expensive looking watch and announce "Time is up! Be sure to add today's work to your portfolio for the semester. Have an excellent morning!"

I take my cue and can't put the damn robe on fast enough. He nods a thank you at me in fufillment of the anonymity clause. Finally. I scurry behind one of those collapsible walls he's propped up for me and dress back up. Matching blush bra and panty. Jeans. Ivory cashmere sweater that Olga gave me as a gift a few years ago. Brown uggs. Much ado about nothing.

As soon as everybody is gone I follow suit. The teacher's comment on Arnold's drawing echoes in my head and I blush. He drew me like a familiarity? What exactly did he mean?

I shake my head as I swing the strap of my black purse over my shoulder and wrap a scarf around my neck. In the five seconds it takes me to do so I bump into someone's back at full force.

"I'm so sorry!" I chirp, skittish as fuck from what I just barely managed to live through.

"It's okay." The back replies. He replies. A husky, warm male voice.

Of course he turns around. And of course, because the world is so goddamn small after all, it's Arnold.

* * *

I turn around to pardon the stranger who bumped into me and my heart jumps up into my throat.

Helga.

In the flesh. Well, dressed flesh. Very well dressed flesh, actually. Her clothes are simple but hug her in all the right ways. Damn.

"It's you... I mean, it's been a while." I rub the back of my neck. This is nerve wracking.

"Hmm," I hear Lee murmur and then grin like an asshole. "I'll leave you to two kids to talk. Names Lee. Nice to kinda meet you, m'lady."

He bows and runs off in the direction of the library. Probably has work later. So much for being a good wingman. Guy code is useless.

"Uh... I swear he acts wierder than he really is." I chuckle lamely.

"It's okay. Friend of yours?"

"Roommate."

"Oh."

We're both looking down at our own feet.

"Come grab a coffee with me." Helga says suddenly, the last word molded into a soft question.

"Right now?"

"Can you think of a better time? I mean if you want to wait ten more years or so, by all means."

It's really been that long, hasn't it. Even her sarcasm has aged; it sounds refined. Less the growl of a girl and more the practiced lilt of a woman.

"Okay. Yeah. Let's get some coffee." I nod. One corner of her mouth twitches and makes me crave the rest of a smile that never comes.

* * *

I haven't seen him in a decade and the first thing I do is demand he follow me to a caffinated watering hole. Real suave, girl. But I can't help it. I have to see what he drew, for one. And then... I don't know what else. Haven't really planned that far ahead.

"Where do you normally go?" Arnold asks me while glancing at a his phone (a sleek black galaxy note, I'm pretty sure). I avoid his face, focusing on his shoes instead. Nice loafers. Sandy brown. He's one of those people whose fashion prefrences just happen to be stylish. Effortlessly good looking, I guess.

"Mm, I'm a Starbucks girl myself."

"Well Lee works there. Which means we have a crap ton of coffee back home. If you don't think that's wierd...?"

"Saving money on overpriced but delicious drinks is never wierd."

He chuckles a little. "Alright. Let's go."

I immediately file this under 'Most painfully awkward moments of all time' as we walk in silence to the fabled Casa de Arnoldo. I still feel like I'm naked in front of him. Every glance he thinks he's sneaking makes me feel wriggly inside. Why me?

We get to a plain red brick house with two doorways. Ah. A duplex. He slips the key into number 43 and motions for me to come inside. It's a decent place, especially for a college student. I tread lightly across a blue-walled living room, round a hall that leads to several shut doors, and then past a set of stairs towards a plain kitchen. Arnold motions towards a ridiculous amount of boxes and bags lining a wall on the kitchen counter. "Your coffee wish is my command."

I smile. "Got any holiday blend yet?"

"We shouldn't... But if you wont tell on Lee then I think I can make it happen."

"I wouldn't dream of it." I promise him. Personally anyone who has access to the holiday stuff in the middle of late September is worth befriending.

The house is filled with the dripping sound of a fresh brew.

"Roommates gone?"

"Well Lee must be off at work or class. And I room with Gerald too, but he has his internship right now. How did I not... I mean, how long have you been coming to school here?"

"I transferred in this year. English major. I had no idea you were studying here. Not like we kept in touch, right?"

Despite my efforts I still sound accusing. But what am I even acussing him of? Seeing me naked? (Not his fault) .Growing up? (He did a damn fine job of it). Forgetting about me? (Maybe. That thought definitely just stung).

He hands me a grass-green mug full of joe and passes me a jar of sugar and a spoon. "Cream?"

"Please."

"Helga..."

"Can I see what you drew?" I ask him simply and take a sip of my drink. Mmm. Definitely worth it.

"W-what?"

"The sketch from today... can I please see it?"

Eyes go wide. Lower lip gets bitten. I watch him blush so visibly red that my own cheeks catch fire as if on cue.

"Why do you want to... I swear I had no idea that you'd be... I mean, it's been so long, Helga. But I didn't mean to... To see so much. I swear."

"I know. Lemme see it anyway."

"Uh..." He yanks at a sketchbook in his backpack. Arnold flips to a certain page and cringes while handing it over as if it's a physically painful thing. When I take it, it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. I stare at the drawing as I let go of a breath that I didn't know I was holding in.

Jesus.

It's like looking into a mirror that you wished you'd owned your entire life. Like being shown not just what you look like, but who you are. I understand what Pepe Le Pieu was going on about now. Familiarity. The way he drew me is soft. Fond. I suddenly remember that cheesy Titanic scene and it hits me. Arnold drew me the way you might draw a lover... And it's gorgeous.

I can't take my eyes off of myself. There are smaller sketches on the corners of the page: my right hand. Left foot. A few different angles of my lips. Above that, a single eye and brow. I've been deconstructed and put back together like a beautiful puzzle. It's alot to take in.

"This is-"

"I'm really sorry Helga." Arnold nearly whispers and lets himself sink onto a chair.

"It's... It's okay. You made me way too pretty."

"But you _are_ pretty."

I stare.

* * *

I blurt out that she's pretty and the room goes quiet. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

* * *

He thinks I'm pretty. I mean, I know I'm no zero, but... Damn my heart is beating fast.

* * *

"Helga." I clear my throat. "What happened? You practically dissapeared. You helped me find my parents in the middle of a jungle and then a week later you were gone."

She fixes her blue eyes (not baby blue, or indigo, just a clear sky blue) onto the table and sighs. "Big Bob got another place further out. He expanded into the cell phone buisiness. And as little as they seemed to notice me, my going to the jungle woke them up I guess. He said a 'little rat like me had no buisiness running around like a grown ass woman' and that 'it was time for some structure far away from Hillwood'. I only got to say bye to Phoebe for a few minutes. That's how sudden it was. And the only reason I still roll with her is because she's the most amazing friend I could ask for and got into a charter program just so we could go to middle and high school together. It's not like I had a way to contact you... I mean, I tried... But..."

"Tried how?"

"Letters. That I couldn't justify sending. So after a while they just kind of... Got forgotten. Phoebe offered to bring them to you but I just... I always said no."

"Why?"

"You finally got your parents back. I'm sure you were busy rebuilding your family. For crying out loud, you didn't even know you still had one. And alot happened. Besides... We weren't really friends. Why bother?"

I have another moment of nostalgia. Or mindfuck. Whichever. I remember exactly what it felt like when Grandpa told me 'my little friend with the one eyebrow' was gone. That Bob Pataki had up and hit the road with the lot of 'em. It's almost sickening. Like when you cut yourself but don't feel the pain until you actually see the wound. How long has mine been there?

My phone alerts me of a text- a robot screaming _'EXTERMINATE!'_ that I ripped from Doctor Who a while ago- and I look down at it.

 **G: YOOO I HEARD. HELGA G. PATAKI?! WTF BRO**

 **A: Lee? Yeah... I'll tell you when you get home. I'm talking to her now**

 **G: Seriously? Ya'll are crazy. That is the most awkward shit I've ever heard. I'm bringing beer back for this one lmao**

 **A: Stfu**

 **G:Be nice to me bae or I'll tell Helga you're taken**

 **A: Be nice to me or I'll let it slip to her that so are you. You know she'll tell Pheobe.**

 **G: Naaaah bro chill**

 **A: LOL**

She's on her own phone when I look up (that pink iphone that just came out) and typing furiously. I just watch her- the way her brows go up at someone's reply and the smirk that tugs at those too-pretty lips. Maybe it's a boyfriend? Why does that bother me a little?

"Sorry." She sighs and taps away. "Give me one sec."

* * *

Phoebe is blowing up my phone like there's a national emergency.

 **Pheebs: Are you serious?! He was in the class?!**

 **Pheebs: I haven't seen him or Gerald since my parents relocated for work. Holy cow!**

 **H: Yeah. You're telling me. We're having cheap wine with dinner tn. I'll tell you all about it then**

 **Pheebs: Um... could you... Maybe get Gerald's number for me? It's been soooo long wow (blush emoji, of course)**

 **H: Sure, why not. Anything for you doll lol**

When I look up Arnold is looking at me. It's unsettling how damn green his eyes are! His forehead is wrinkled a bit like he's thinking way too hard. I play with my hair when I get nervous (or so Phoebe tells me) and I do just that without thinking twice.

"Do you really not think we were friends?" God. He sounds dissapointed. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Either way I silently thank mother nature for puberty. He has such a manly voice! But still sweet sounding. Like.. like putting butter on rocks or something. It's so hard to describe.

"Um- Hey!"

Arnold frowns and snatches my iphone out of my hand. It's still unlocked, but gratefully on the homescreen.

"A cat?" He cocks his head at the orange poof that I have as a wallpaper.

"Nymph. I found her in an alley way couple years ago. Now what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Well, I guess I don't have to worry about him seeing any of my self-indulgent nudes. Not like he hasn't already seen it all. Fuck my life.

He hands it back after a sec. "Fixing that. If we weren't friends before maybe we can start now. If you text me I assume you'll be okay with it. If not... then it was good seeing you? Well, not seeing you, I mean... Ugh. You know what I mean. Catching up."

The phone is warm from being in his hands, which are much bigger than my own. And elegant looking. Exactly what you'd expect from an artist.

"You put your number in there?" I ask in disbelief.

"Yes."

I can't help myself. My face breaks into a stupid grin, and I'm laughing. "Wow." I exhale. "Okay. Got it."

I keep giggling at how ridiculous this all is. Arnold was always smooth, but damn. Just who is this man that I only got to know as a boy?

He laughs too, deep and throaty. It makes my skin prickle. "Good. So... I mean..." I follow his gaze to the sketchbook. "Oh. Here. I mean, you probably need it for credit, huh..."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry. I mean I'll burn it after the semester's over if you want. I swear."

"Could I... Have it?"

"W-what?" Arnold looks like he can't believe what I'm saying. Hell, I can't either.

"When it's all graded, may I have it? I... I like it. So I'd rather keep it if it's all the same to you."

"I mean... Sure. Why not. I'll, uh, keep it to myself till then. Promise."

Laughter. I can't contain myself. It just hurls out of my mouth like sound-vomit. "Ah... This is so crazy! Am I the only one who thinks so?"

"No. No, you aren't. God, I-"

 _'EXTERMINATE!'_

"-Aaaand it's on vibe. Sorry."

"Hey, I like Daleks as much as the next doc."

One gold brow arches at me.

"What? It's great. Everything you could want in a show once you get past the science mumbo jumbo... Ya nerd."

He smiles at me. No, he beams at me and it's blinding. I hide my face behind my cofee cup and sip. "I have to go soon." I mumble. "Essays that need tweaking. You know the deal."

"Can I walk you home?"

"What is this, the 50's? Chivalry is dead."

"Not dead," he chuckles, "just harder to come by, I think. But growing up around my grandparents made me appreciate that sort of thing. People call me old-souled alot, now that I think about it."

"They aren't wrong." I get up from my chair. "Alright then. Fine. You can walk me home. Or to the bus stop, really. I live a quick ride away from campus."

The cup makes a hollow sound as he sets it in the sink and then leads me to the front door. He holds it open like a fool. "After you."

I roll my eyes.

My heart thumps against my chest like a caged beast.

Hey at last, Arnold.

* * *

 _Do your thang, readers. Let me know if I should (try) to finish it? Happy Holidays!_


	2. You used to call me

_Alright! Trying to stay motivated with this one. Same warnings apply. Also, the numbers in the story are random so please don't call or text them. I accept no responsibility for that._

* * *

I don't know how long I've been here, hand moving back and forth frantically. How many pages is it now? Three? Four?

 _"That'll be my bus Arnoldo." I saw the white and silver vehicle in question approaching all the way down the street we were on. "I guess I'll see you around?"_

 _The way she'd asked (hopeful? Or maybe that was just me) had made my stomach clench the way it only does on gym days after crunches._

 _"I guess that's up to you now, isn't it?" I smiled and shook my cell back and forth as a hint._

 _It pulled up and she laughed. "Since when are you so... mouthy?"_

 _"You might find out. But like I said, up to you... bye, Helga."_

 _I watched her climb onto the bus, the doors cutting off her laughter. She took her seat towards the back, against a window closest to where I stood and I couldn't help but feel like it wasn't a random choice._

 _She was still smiling when the bus pulled off._

I drag my pencil- up, down, up, down- to form her cupid's bow, sweeping a line beneath it to shape her full lower lip, stretched by a smile. Helga has the sort of wide mouth (like that actress, Julia something or other) that just gives you ideas. Really, really vivid ones. Ones that finally distract me from my sketching frenzy and draw attention to a fresh hard on.

Sighing, I unzip my jeans and give into it. No one's home, and it's been a while anyway. Not since...

"Fuck that." I shake the thought away immediately. Focus on the madness of the day and the havock it's wreaking on me. I picture Helga's lips wrapping around a lollipop-

Squeeze the base.

Her tongue dancing along a popscicle-

Rub the head against my palm.

And those blue eyes looking up at me while she swallows me and sucks as hard as she looks like she's capable of. I wonder if she's done that with a guy. Idiot. Of course she has, just look at her. So fucking pretty. She'd wrap those model-long legs around a man and end him. Grind that clean shaven, pink pussy of hers against him... againt me... And-

"Fuuuck."

I'm groaning and tightening the fist I have around myself. Shit. I came alot more than I thought I would, and the feel of it on my own stomach is kinda adolescent. And gross. Tissues, tissues...

"Yo!" I hear a muffled voice and knock at my door. Gerald. Figures he'd interupt my sleep and my... Uh.. Alone time... All in one day. I clean myself up and let him in. I feel boneless and tired now, or as he calls it, 'the itis'. The face he gives me when he walks in is full of amusement.

"Let's go. Lee got pizza. I got the cans. Off your ass Arnold."

"Why are you always making me get up?"

"Why are you always sitting?"

I sigh and follow Gerald to the living room where Lee is sitting cross legged on the ground, a slice of pizza hanging out of his mouth and an Xbox controller in both hands. COD. "Mmf!" He screams through the dough and fist pumps the air like a maniac while people blow up onscreen.

"Delivery?"

"No Arnold, DiGiorno." My best friend rolls his eyes. "Course it's delivery. Times like these call for UpsliceDown. Sausage for us and ricotta for the wierdo."

"Because I'm gonna score with Samantha the veg with meat-breath," he declares sarcastically after damn near swalloing his piece whole. "She finally said yes to chilling with me."

"Ooho, like Netflix and chill?"

"You chill. I'm not about to creep her out by trying to jump her while disney plays in the background."

"Disney?" I laugh while grabbing a slice and sitting on our faithful red couch. A lot of- ahem- milestones have been reached on this bad boy.

"She likes Disney movies. Shut up. It's adorable."

Gerald rolls his eyes. "Man, you got it bad and haven't even had it yet."

"Are we or are we not convening to discuss today's current events?"

Lee sends one of his know-it-all, shit-eating grins my way and I sigh. It's the kind of look that sees right through you and reminds you that you can't lie.

"So lemme get this straight." Gerald tosses a can of beer my way. I'm not much of a drinker but one or two is alright from time to time, I guess. I can just run it off tomorrow. My best friend continues, "You went in to class and instead of an old man with enough flaps to be the bird... It was Helga?"

"... Yeah."

"Helga. Like, beat you up, growl at you, move it football head, Helga?"

"Yes."

"Helga G. Pataki, Helga? Like you're positive?"

"Oh he's positive." Lee snorted. "You should've seen his face Gerald. Priceless."

"So you mean to tell me you two saw Helga's p-"

I glare at him, something that doesn't happen often between us, so he stops and shrugs. "I was gonna say her Pataki."

Lee and Gerald bump knuckles and laugh so hard that I can't help but chuckle. Must be the beer doing it's job.

"Alright, alright. Yeah. We saw, well, everything."

"What's her rank Lee?" Gerald asks as he hands the goon a can.

Lee cracks the tab open and I follow suit with can number two. I'm gonna need it to survive them.

"Fiiiine."

"How fine?"

"Ticket on the dash fine, bro. Just look at Romeo's face over there. It's exactly how he looked earlier!"

He isn't wrong. I can feel a flush creep up my neck as I remember every bit of skin I saw all over again. She was never ugly (at least not to me) but she grew up to be the kind of girl you stare at but never have the balls to talk to. Beautiful.

"So Arnold, how'd it go? You did bring Juliette back home with you right?"

Gerald turns his head so fast that I'm surprised it doesn't fall off. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, for coffee. What kind of fantasy porn are you living in Lee?"

"Any kind I want once they develop better engines to fuck around with." Lee corrects us. Video game jargon.

"By the way, did Arnold ever tell you that they _were_ Romeo and Juliette? She kissed him for like an hour."

I stare at Gerald blankly, the warm weight of the beer sitting in my stomach and clouding my head. I'm not a lightweight but I'm not big on being wasted all day, college experience be damned. "Shit... I forgot all about that."

"I bet. You always were less wierded out by her than the rest of us."

It's true, wierdly (ha) enough. Helga was aggravating as all hell when we were kids, but there were times where I can remember her not being like that at all. Something about her just seemed nicer than she let on. And she had confessed at one point to... Loving me, but...

"It's been years. This is ridiculous. She won't want to talk anyway." I shake my head at no one. Beer number three (when did that happen?) is definitely talking through me now.

"Talk to-"

"You gave her your number?" Lee supplies quickly. He's always been smart, that Julian.

Gerald grins. "Okay then lover boy! How'd that go down."

This time I'm grinning like a mad man. "Snatched her phone and put it into her contacts."

"Damn! You're a bold kid Arnold. A bold, bold kid."

I feel a vibration in my left pocket and yank the culprit out. It's a number I don't recognize.

 **6174425790: So I decided I want to find out. Friends? :)**

Shit. Is this real life? I look down at the little godsend in my hands.

Helga.

* * *

The walk with Arnold was quiet but also peaceful. His goodbye not at all what I'd expected as he shook his phone at me with a face that looked... eager? I could have imagined it, though. Probably did. Or maybe I'm just not used to the idea of him wanting to talk to me. Do I even want to, for that matter? He saw me bare-ass naked for crying out loud! And it's been forever!

I'd taken my seat on the bus close to a window so that I could take a last look at him: messy blonde hair, a cocky smile on his lips but a soft look in his eyes.

My heart beat wildly, deciding for me with several thumps: you do, you do, you do.

Criminy.

It's early in the evening when I walk through the door of the slightly off-campus apartment I share with Phoebe. I got the urge to go window shopping and kill time instead of heading straight home. To just wander and think. As soon as I'm inside she attacks me.

"Sushi and tempura from Tabemono and pink moscato. Sit. Tell."

I watch her thick black hair whip around and fall against her baby blue tee as she yanks me towards the living room. The little devil knows I love that japanese spot, nevermind the wine. Ugh. I love her.

She shoves me towards the burnt orange loveseat and I laugh.

"Easy crouching tiger. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Nope! I did overtime last week for an extra day off!" She explains while snatching a glass off of our wooden coffee table. Phoebe graduated early and managed to snag a job at a bridal shop while she studies for her Masters. Not the sort of thing I ever pictured her doing but she's so attentive to detail and criteria that she nails sales more often than not. She's also kind of hooked on the magic moment when a bride finds THE dress ('It's like real life Say Yes to the Dress!' she's told me).

"I also started without you." Phoebe gestures at her cup of wine. "I still can't believe what you told me."

"Believe it sister. Why lie about some bullshit like that?"

I grab the empty glass she's set up and pour myself some pink. There are a few boxes of shrimp tempura and salmon rainbow rolls so I pop the top off of both and start picking at the feast.

"Good point." She reflects. I hear a soft meow and look down. Nymph is staring at me through those orange eyes of hers, fluffy tail swishing back and forth before she hops onto the spot besides me. Spoiled cat. She's purring like a small motor and I'm not sure if it's because I'm home or because she wants my sushi.

"Talk!" Phoebe demands with a giggle and I laugh. We've both changed enough over the years. I've slowed down and let myself be more... well... myself. Still smart-mouthed, but also more outwardly gentle. Girlier. Phoebe meanwhile retained that textbook nerdiness, but I think alot of my sass has rubbed off on her. When push comes to shove she'll take anyone on in the most well-thought out manner possible, and it's a sight to behold. She actually made a manager at the shop cry once for getting a bride's dress order wrong and trying to pin it on her.

I sigh and tell my best friend everything.

Her reactions make me cringe, laugh, and everything in between.

"So he gave you his number and walked you to the bus? That's so chivalrous... And a little more agressive than I pictured from him. Hmm." She looks pensieve. "Do you still...?"

I damn near choke on my wine.

In the years past Phoebe and I got super close. Too much happened for us not to, really. And that included telling her how I'd felt about Arnold. After a few years of keeping in touch with doctor Bliss to work through alot of my issues it became obvious why I had obsessed over him so much. Arnold had been the exact opposite of everyone around me. He was kind. Raised by people who loved him and knew how to show it. Most of all he'd noticed me, and that was something that I'd latched to and molded into whatever my nine year old self thought that love was.

"No, Pheebs. We aren't the same people we were back then. Hell, he knows my boobs better than he knows me. You should have seen that sketch."

"Was it good?"

"Good? He drew me like one of his french girls." I scoff and she snorts.

"Oh my god. I guess when you think about it it sort of fits. Arnold as an artist I mean. He always had a hipster vibe with that shirt... skirt... thing he used to wear. What's he look like now?"

"Good," I sip on my second glass, "is what he looks like. I still can't believe it."

"Hemsworth scale?"

"Right between Liam and Chris."

"Whoa. Closer to who?"

"He'd be Chris only if he grew a beard and, I dunno, took steroids? Which would not be attractive anywhere but Hollywood."

"So a Liam and a half? Cheers to that!"

We clink glasses and I toss Nymph a tiny piece of salmon that she immediately devours.

"Sooo..." Phobe starts messing with the hem of her shirt nervously. "Did you... maybe happen to get that number?"

"Shit! Nah, let me see. One sec."

"You're going to ask Arnold for it?" She smirks.

I scowl at her then giggle. Fucking wine. "You want it or not?"

"Shutting!" Her hand drags across her mouth as if it were a zipper.

I look through my phone for any unfamiliar contacts and crack up when I see it.

"He added himself as 'Football head' Pheebs!"

I go ahead and text him.

 **H: So I decided I want to find out. Friends? :)**

Hit send, and Phoebe and I stare at my phone like Satan might come rolling out of it. We jump when it vibrates.

I bite my lip and check the reply.

 **Football head: Friends :)**

 **H: Sooo two things. 1) Why did you add yourself as football head lmao and 2) can I ask a friend for a favor?**

It vibrates a minute later, and while I'd normally find it annoying I think the moscato is helping me not care so much.

 **Football head: Isn't that what you used to call me lol. And sure, depending on what it is.**

 **H: True. I was such a mean kid! Can I have Gerald's digits?**

 **Football head: You were. Are you a mean adult too? Haha. And I gotta ask, what for?**

 **H: Nah, I think I mellowed out quite a bit. My cat is meaner than I am most of the time. And for Phoebe!**

 **Football head: Ohhhh. Haha Gerald is gonna freak. Here. 781-980-0775**

 **H: Take a pic of his reaction!**

I text Phoebe Gerald's number and open the camera on my phone. She squeals and I catch the moment. Ahh the sweet effects of alcohol.

I get a text from Arnold soon after.

 **Football head: Check it.**

There a picture of Gerald spitting out a stream of beer.

"Oh my god!" I laugh and fall over on the couch.

I attatch the pic of Pheebs clutching her iphone, her face completely red.

 **H: #TeamCupid!**

 **Football Head: So what are you up to?**

 **H: Drinking and not driving. You?**

 **Football head: Same. Question**

 **H: Yes?**

 **Football head: Any... Interrogating about today?**

 **H: ... Maybe. You?**

 **Football head: Yeah lol. Stuff like that doesn't happen everyday**

 **H: True. I should hope not. Heeey mister artist, do you have an instagram?**

 **Football head: Yes lol**

 **Was that a hint? It's TheTallestShortman**

 **H: Lol are you really. I'll add you. Mines LittlePinkBow**

 **Football head: That suits you lol**

 **H: Thank ya :)**

I'm not much for social media, but I love looking at pictures on instagram (and posting alot of Nymph, like a crazy cat lady should). I add Arnold and he accepts a minute later. I start scrolling. Watercolors of trees rendered in out-there colors: purples, blues and streaks of gray. Sketches of people doing all kinds of things; from running to pointing with angry expressions. A brighter painting where a woman in a dress is rendered only in shades of red, yellow, and orange. A stray picture of him sleeping on the couch beside his pet pig. A picture of his parents opening a box together, laughing. He looks so much like them...

My phone vibrates to let me know he likes a picture of me snuggled up to Nymph.

I like one of him with his back to the camera dragging a paint brush across a canvas.

Are we insta-flirting? Geez.

I look over at Phoebe and noticed we've both gone quiet. I give her a thumbs up when she blinks up at me and laughs.

 **Football head: What are you doing**

 **H: Debating changing your contact name to your real one!**

 **Football head: Thursday afternoon**

 **H: Oh. Nothing I know of**

 **Football head: ...**

 **H: ?**

 **Football head: I have a field assignment for a class. Want to come witness it?**

 **H: You're gonna draw outside?**

 **Football head: Yep. Have to. I'll supply you with nourishment**

 **H: That sounds like a bribe**

 **Football head: Or maybe just a token of my new friendship?**

 **H: Lol fine. Why not. But bring something good. Nothing on the cheap, hear me?**

 **Football head: Wouldn't dream of it. When have I heard you say that before lmao**

 **H: Omg, April Fool's dance! Wait, how the hell did you know how to tango at NINE years old?!**

 **Football head: Grandparents! Lmao. Impressive right?**

 **H: Don't let it go to your head. We've surpassed the era of tango and gone straight to the Dougie**

 **Football head: I can do that too. Gimme a break!**

 **H: Prove it!**

 **Football head: I might have to now lol**

 **H: I'll ttyt? I forgot that damn essay. Thank god most of it is done already**

 **Football head: Sure. Good night Helga :)**

I bite my lip. Phoebe smiles at me. "Well look at you."

"What."

"That's the same look you'd get everytime I found you hiding behind something secretly liking that poor boy."

"Shut up Phoebe." I fake groan. "We're just friends."

"Mmmhmm. For now, anyway."

"You want me to tell Gerald you sleep-talk in mandarin?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Nah," I sprawl out on the couch and sigh, "chicks before dicks."

"Go do your homework."

I tickle Nymph behind an ear and get up, rolling my eyes. "Yes mom. Thanks for getting me tipsy before hand."

She waves. "Anytime Helga."

I'm not wrong. I really don't know who Arnold is now. But oddly enough, I find myself looking foward to finding out. I smile and look down at my phone, Nymph's little meows following me to my room.

I don't change his contact name.

* * *

 _Reviews are appreciated! Also feel free to tumblr stalk me. Same user name. I need more in my feed lol_


	3. Boy meets girl again

_Same warnings. Enjoy_.

* * *

When Thursday comes I pretend it doesn't matter.

I pretend that I'm not digging through my closet for a specific knit navy blue sweater with cut-out shoulders to pair with black leggings (and chestnut knee length boots I got last fall).

I run a brush through my hair and pretend that I wear mascara everyday like most girls I know. Then I pretend to grab a random shade of lipstick (a taupe pink) and run it along my mouth.

All of the pretending falls apart when I look in the mirror.

I've never been overly vain but I'm not into looking like I just rolled out of bed either. When I do wear makeup, a balance well between clown and Kardashian is my usual prefrence. I turn to one side and inspect myself. Nothing about me says 'I hope you like how I look today!' so I'm satisfied. Arnold's already seen me naked, so I might as well make sure my clothes look decent, right? I grab a tote bag and head to the kitchen to feed Nymph.

Phoebe's already there in her all black work attire fixing herself some green tea. I pour kitty chow and watch one brow go up behind her 'Hello Sunshine' mug.

"The first impression sweater?" She asks casually.

"The what?"

"Helga, you wear that sweater everytime you go hang out with a guy for the first time."

"I already hung out with him." I counter. Nymph comes scurrying in at the sound of kibble on metal.

"But it wasn't planned."

"Do I really wear this every time I-?"

"Yes. It probably makes you feel good about yourself. Besides, it looks great on you. Brings out your eyes."

"How are you so good at complimenting and condemning me at the same time?"

My roommate giggles. "Practice?"

"Sure, sure. I gotta go. Have fun trying not to text Geraldo at work all day."

"Hey!"

* * *

I smile when I realize it's Thursday.

Whistling, I grab a black sweater to toss on over jeans and tie the laces of some black free run sneakers Gerald and Lee got me as a Christmas present last year (comfortable as hell and way better than their prank presents by far). Texting Helga for the past day and a half has only made me anticipate today that much more. In that time I got to learn a few things about her: One, she'd done the nude modeling for an art credit she needed. Two, she'd very casually murder me if anyone we knew set their eyes on the sketch. Three, her all time favorite food is a 'well-made' pastrami sandwhich. And four, she likes to take selfies right after waking up.

The selfies I take note of are on instagram. Camisole strap riding off a shoulder. Hair tossed all over her pillows. Sunlight blazing in her blue eyes. You can tell she isn't trying hard to be beautiful. She just is.

I may have been raised a gentleman, but the word man is involved for a reason. I just can't ignore her looks. What I can do is put that aside in favor of being actual friends with her. Which I'd like. There's so much I want to talk to her about. So much I want to know. I guess I'll just have to settle for rubbing one out until my dick gets the concept and drops the idea. Friends don't want to drag friends into bed. Helga is off limits, and that's that.

* * *

What is it about anticipation that makes time slow to a crawl? It feels like ages before I'm finally on the corner of the street that I asked Helga to meet me on. She's been at class all day too, so the messages between us are sparse. Kind of tough to draw and text at the same time, after all. I'm in the process of checking up on her when a warm, high voice interrupts me. "Hi, Arnold."

She isn't wearing anything special. It's the kind of stuff I see girls all over campus wear... But then why does it look so damn good on her? The most you can see of Helga right now is her shoulders through some holes on her sweater (that I think are there on purpose?) but something about that peek of pale skin is kind of sexy.

What the hell is wrong with me.

"H-Hey Helga."

"Sorry I'm late," she sighs while toying with the ends of her hair, "but I got caught up in a riveting lesson on what isn't appropriate to turn in as homework. Some idiot used the word 'fuck' in his essay 47 times. Teacher counted. Made sure we knew it was banned as subject, verb and adjective."

"Harsh. It's a good word when used sparingly."

She laughs and looks around. "So where are we?"

"A few blocks away from the park. I got you something."

Her eyes go wide."What is it?"

I point at the spot behind me. "See this deli? It's been around longer than we have, apparently. And if there's one thing it does well..." I grab a small wrapped bundle out of a plastic bag and hold it out to her. "It's pastrami sandwhiches."

Helga reaches out to take it (the nails on her hands are painted white) and then bites her lower lip before mock punching me on the arm with a laugh. "I can't believe you."

"What, did you eat one recently?"

"No," she shakes her head, "but I just happen to be starving, so this is pretty amazing of you. You didn't have to do that."

"I promised you nourishment remember?"

"Yeah, while drinking." Lips smirk up at me in amusement.

"And you accepted while drinking."

"Touché. So where to?"

"There's a spot in the park not far from here that I like to sit at. How about it?"

"Lead the way captain!" She salutes me and I laugh.

We're blessed with mild weather- sun and the kind of breeze that feels good on the back of your neck- as we walk into the park. This is one of my favorite places to draw simply because there's always something to see. It's also alot easier to observe things quietly without being obvious or seeming like a creep. I was labeled that once last year at a cafe for glancing at a woman eating a danish one too many times, even though I was just drawing the way she held it to practice hands and fingers. Lesson learned.

Leaves crunch under our feet every so often and I laugh when Helga catches me catching her stepping on a few on purpose.

"I like the sound!" She shrugs and then glares at me a little. "Stop being so observant. It's freaky. You sure you aren't training for the FBI?"

"Pretty sure. Though if either of us really wanted to I think infiltrating an office to save a neighborhood would look pretty good on our resumes."

"You still remember that?"

"How do you forget something like that?"

"I don't know... You have to admit the bus chase was pretty traumatizing."

That's not entirely wrong. Gerald still refuses to drive despite knowing how.

"I guess it sort of was. Something crazy was always happening at Hillwood though, didn't you notice?"

"Yeah, you're definitely right about that. Once I moved it became even more apparent."

I lead Helga around a fountain filled with wish pennies and towards my favorite (thankfully unoccupied) bench. A crinkling sound is followed by the smell of salt as she immediately unwraps the sandwhich I gave her and sits down for her first bite. Blue eyes nearly roll into the back of her head as she moans around it.

"Mmf!" She swallows and tosses her head back. "Yes... This. Is. Amazing."

I rummage for my sketch book, chuckling at the sight of her face when I turn back around.

"There's mustard on your chin, so I believe you."

"Really? Where?"

Signaling her with the point of my finger against my own chin, I pass her a napkin and make sure she cleans it all off.

"I'm not even sorry," she sighs, "this is too good to eat like a lady."

"Oh, you mean you do know how to keep your crumbs to yourself?"

Eyes roll. A snort. Giggle. "Yes. When I feel like it anyway. I didn't have breakfast this morning."

"It's the most important meal of the day."

"No, sleep is."

"Hmm," I flip to a clean page, "you're not entirely wrong about that."

"So you just pick something and draw it?" Helga asks while sucking mustard off of a finger. God, this girl eats with some serious gusto. I'm sure some people would find it sloppy, but I like that she's enjoying what I bought her no holds barred. It's pretty cute.

"Yeah, sort of. Sometimes it takes me a while, but... Ah, wait. I got what I want. That was quick."

"What do you-"

"Shh." I wink at her for a sec and then feel my face go serious as I start sketching. "The guy sitting on the bench across the fountain, feeding the birds. Watch him." I whisper.

"... Okay."

I hear the reluctance in her voice as she goes back to munching. Meanwhile I focus on said man, who keeps tossing stray hot dog bun pieces to the birds at his feet. He has a thick graying mustache and a worn face. The kind that belongs to a man who's probably worked his whole life. I wait a bit before adding the features of his face, focusing on the detail of his clothes instead. Brown leather shoes. Burgundy porkpie hat. Then I see it- the shift of expression I wait for- and etch it onto the page immediately. I'm so deeply involved in the sketch that I don't even feel Helga's presence until I finish and find her hip nearly pressed to mine, face peering over my shoulder.

Before I can react she leans over and grabs the edge of the page closest to her, her thumb smoothing the corner of it gently.

"Christ," she breaths close to my cheek as she sits back up. "That is gorgeous. How the h-... I mean, when did you start doing this?"

Her smile is amazing. There's so much wonder on her face; the pure sort that most people our age are too jaded and ruined to feel anymore. My fingers practically itch to draw it. I try to commit it to memory so I can do so later.

"Honestly? It began as a coping mechanism."

"Coping? For what, Arnold?"

"It started not long after Grandpa Phil passed away."

"Oh. My god, I'm so sorry. How long ago?"

"Eight years ago now? It was sad, but also sort of incredible. He passed in his sleep. Grandma was fine and held his hand while we called the paramedics. She refused to move. And by the time we got back to her she had gone too. Right there, sitting up in bed and holding onto her husband. You can't make that shit up.

Anyway... It was hard to deal with. I mean I do still have my parents, but we were still learning each other, y'know? They'd only been back for a couple of years then. But the way my grandparents died... Something about it kind of, I dunno, haunted me. It was ridiculously sad but also beautiful. It was like they held on for my sake and only left me once they knew I'd be okay without them. And together at that. One day I just started flipping through the family album, studying their faces. And I decided I wanted to draw that moment from memory. So I just started practicing in an old notebook. Over time I just got better... And here I am. Studying visual arts like a million other hopeful people.

I'm not even sure why I just gave you that long speech. You must think I'm a wierdo." I sigh up at the sky and don't really have a good answer. But then I feel a finger- her pinky- poking at my hand until I splay my fingers and she curls it around one of my own.

"It takes a wierdo to know one."

Helga's face is pained and a little bit twisted.

I try to memorize it, too.

* * *

I poke at Arnold's hand with my pinky until he separates his fingers enough that I can wrap it around his. I haven't held pinkies with anyone since I was a kid, except Phoebe. She knows it's my wierd-thing-I-do-when-I'm-sad and let's me hold onto hers when shit gets too real. I tell ya, if we weren't so irrevocably hetero we'd be perfect for each other.

This is the first time I've touched this person since we were kids. The thought hits me out of nowhere and makes me feel suddenly self-aware. Arnold has hands that are warm and just a little callused (probably from holding pencils and paint brushes for all these years). They dwarf my own as he reciprocates, a finger twice the size of mine settling against it.

Looking back at Arnold's drawing makes my breath come out shaky. The look on that man's face! He managed to catch him just as he'd looked down at the birds pecking at his offerings. He'd smiled, but Arnold managed to shade this gleam in his eye that makes him look both defeated and serene all at once. Like the stranger had just had the realization that this was the hand fate had dealt him, and was content to live through it. It's a truly increadible thing to be able to interpret with nothing but a pencil and paper.

Forcing myself to meet his darkened green eyes (which are pretty to the point of distraction) I speak. "Rule number one for being my friend. Only one of us can be miserable at a time. Got it? That means right now I'm your big pinky."

"Big pinky?" He cocks his head.

I squeeze my little finger against his. "Yeah. Kinda like when you spoon someone. Big spoon on the outside and little spoon on the inside? Right now I'm the bigger one. Until you feel better."

Arnold stares at our hands and then back at me and blurts, "That's adorable. Are you even sure you're Helga?"

"That's it football head. Gimme my pinky back. Privileges revoked!" As I begin yanking my finger away (while blushing pretty bad) he holds fast to it, and I'm momemtarily aggravated at how unfair it is that he has that much more strength in one damn finger.

"Hey, easy," he chuckles, "I'm sorry. It's just not what I'd picture from you."

"What would you picture? You don't really know me."

"That's true... But isn't that what we're here for, Pinky Mistress?"

"Well I just found my new pornstar name."

If he'd been eating Arnold would be choking half to death right now. "What the... Oh my god Helga. Just... Wow." He's tossing his head back and laughing like the kid I once knew. Airy and sweet with that old glimmer in his eyes. I concider it a job well done as far as cheering up goes. "You're a goof," he declares once the laughter subsides.

"I do what I can."

He looks down at our hands. "Um..."

Idiot. You've been holding on so long that he might get the wrong idea, I tell myself and unclasp my finger from his.

"Better?"

"Much. Thanks. So... How'd you wind up here?"

Maybe it's because he's offered up so much of himself. Or maybe it's because Arnold's always had this way about him (Aura? Vibe? Voodoo?) that makes him far too easy to spill to. I tell him.

"Big Bob passed away when I was a freshman in high school. Liver disease from all the drinking. You'd have thought it'd be my mom with her track record." I don't give him any room to say he's sorry. "And yeah, I was sad. Everybody was. But after a few months it became obvious how responsible he'd been for alot of the bad things about our family. Miriam pulled herself together and took over the company. Remember when she did that back when we were kids? She never stopped being good at it. And without Bob to keep her down she gave up drinking and threw herself into it. Met a really nice guy with a young kid and remarried, so I have a little stepbrother now. It's done her good. I think it's cause she got to be the mom she wasn't to me or Olga. And at first I resented that... But she's so great with him. And you can't hate Nate. He's too damn cute."

"Anyway, I started off at a college on the west coast but then Phoebe told me this place had a prestigious ass english program, which I was looking for. The one at my other school just wasn't, I dunno, enriching enough? So I banged out the entrance piece and here I am."

"Wow. That's alot of change."

"I know... But everybody's just so... happy. Miriam doesn't even have to work. She just chooses to. Perks of being married to the CEO of the company she partnered with. She acquired his heart in the process, the sly old girl."

Arnold stares at me for a second. "Wait, so you're like, rich now?" If anyone else was asking I'd be wary. It's not a fact I make known to people. I know how easy it'd be for someone to decide to try and use me over it. Hell, it happened to Olga when I was a kid and we weren't nearly as loaded back then. Just better off than most.

"Not me. My family. I try to use as little of their money as possible. I think that's why they throw it at me in the form of gifts sometimes."

"Whoa. And I thought my parents were making dough. They lead tours all over the world now, so I only see them over vacation. Still gotta remind them not to be off somewhere. Even after all that jungle nonsense they're still sick with wanderlust."

"That's amazing. I mean they both love the same thing, but each other too, right?"

"Yeah. Goals." Arnold chuckles and starts scribbling again.

"What're you-?"

"Shhh. Respect the will of the artist. You can see when I'm done. So what was your entrance piece?"

"Umm..." I go a little quiet. My piece caused... a bit of an uproar. As in on top of having my grades in a row the professors loved it, so I was a shoe-in. I like knowing my work is good. I pour my heart into everything. Being fussed over? Not so much. "I wrote. Obviously."

"You don't wanna tell me what?"

I bite my lip and duck my head a little. "Not really."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not all show-offy like you are, Arnold. Sorry not sorry."

Chewing his lip and looking up as if he were thinking he asks, "Do you know why I like what I do?"

"Tell me."

"Because I get to show people things through my eyes. Capture something that I don't know how to any other way. Whatever I put on paper speaks. And that's corny as hell, I know, but-"

"It's not." I shake my head. Swing my feet back and forth and smile. "It's what I do, too. Just... With words. I'm only good at painting pictures with words."

His hands grip the sketch book and flip it to face me. A badass vixen looks back at me, stylized to look like a pretty Jessica Rabbit woman- impossible hair curling around her fabulously, lips pursed as she places one hand on her hip and the other holds a pinky finger to the air. Underneath it a sweeping script says 'Pinky Mistress'.

I laugh so hard I snort like a dork.

"Daaamn. She's hot!"

He rips the page off and hands it to me. "For you. I won't even charge you for it."

"Ooh, I am one lucky gal." I look at the exaggerated curves and one piece suit of our newly hatched super heroine (or super stripper, maybe) and giggle. "Do I wanna know what her powers are?"

"Giving out prostate exams?"

"Oh my god, Arnold! You're so sick!" By that point I'm doubled over.

"You made her up!"

"Yeah and you tarnished her!"

"I'd say it's an improvement. She's saving men's lives everywhere."

"Ughhh. So gross." I tap the page over his hand as punishment.

We suddenly notice how the sky's gone cotton-candy pink with streaks of purple running through it. The sun's setting. How long have we been here?

"We should go soon."

"Yeah. It's a bit chillier than before."

"Walk you to the bus?"

I nod and watch him pack up. The way he holds things has an oddly delicate edge to it. It's a wierd ass thing to notice, but maybe it's just because of his artsy ways? Still, I wonder if that's how he would touch a person, too... Which isn't really a friend-safe thought, so I stop. What a random thing to wonder.

Once I'm home a while later I hold my breath and stare at the screen of my phone. I hit send anyway.

* * *

My phone rings as I climb the steps to the house.

 **Helga: Look in the school paper. Published entry essays. 'Thy chamber rings' by anonymous.**

So I do.

* * *

 _Thanks for the reviews everybody :x_


	4. Singer with a starbucks size last name

_Sooo to all the people expecting a full on, crazy amazing poem, I'm sorry to dissapoint you. I'm not a genius writer so I hope you can cut me some slack and just... imagine how good it is? I write almost everything on my phone, too, so most of this gets done while commuting. I have a pretty busy life so a complete poem wasn't part of the plan... again, I'm sorry! *fetal position*_

* * *

All of the best freshmen entry projects get published in the school paper each fall. I don't think it usually includes anyone else, but despite the fact that it was written by a sophomore I find it. Helga's entry piece reads like a Shakespearean masterpiece. It's a poem, lines rhyming almost musically. The first time I read it I'm positive it's about a man mourning his lover but certain words catch and make me scrutinize it a little more. I go over some of it again:

 _Tell me, cruel mistress, why thy chamber rings hollow?_

 _What is love without hatred? Joy without sorrow?_

 _Tell me true, why am I not yet bathed_

 _In the ring of your mercy_ _as I falter, depraved?_

Oh. I'm almost positive now, but...

 **A: Reading your essay. Is the guy about to commit suicide?**

She texts back a few minutes later.

 **Helga: Kudos Shortman**

 **A: Wow.. it's really good Helga. Did you mean for love and death to be interchangeable that way?**

 **Helga: That was the plan!**

 **A: What made you write it?**

 **Helga: Oof. That's a long convo for another day buddy. That's not rude is it?**

 **A: No! It's amazing. I didn't know I was in the presence of such literary greatness**

 **Helga: *Bows***

 **A: Don't let it go to your head lol**

 **Helga: Even if it did it'll never be football shaped lmao**

 **A: You wound me, mistress of the pinky finger!**

 **Helga: Thy punishment is just, oh foolish whelp**

 **A: Hey!**

What could her inspiration have been I wonder. Still, I know Helga just enough. She's never been one to budge on anything until she feels comfortable enough. I can respect that. I send her a teary emoji and laugh. That back-and-forth is how we spend our days (which turn into weeks) until mid-October is upon us. Gerald managed to convince me to convince Helga to convince Phoebe to gather up for a game night at our house. Lee helpfully volunteered his Wii and some games that I'm pretty sure are gonna embarass us. But deep down I think that's part of what we're all looking foward to.

When the Saturday we agreed upon rolls around I spend the day helping Gerald tidy up (while Lee escapes with the valid excuse of work until the evening).

"You looking foward to seeing Phoebe?" I ask him with a grimace after digging a pair of socks (that have yellowed beyond belief) out from underneath our loveseat. He yelps when I throw them and they land on his head.

"Bro!" He shakes the offending pair off and tosses them back into my hands. "Yeah I am. I've seen her facebook. That girl is my Mulan, man. She just doesn't know it yet."

"You guys have always had a thing, I feel like. You just hadn't hit puberty yet." I chuckle.

"I mean I could say the same about you and another certain blonde.."

"It's not like that!" He's waggling his brows like a jerk so of course I have to laugh.

"Not yet. Ya'll have history, man. Do you not like her?"

Grabbing the broom from its spot in the kitchen corner, I pause. "I don't know. I mean... She's... Attractive..."

"You mean hot, Arnold. It's just me. Your best friend. You can say it."

"She's beautiful, alright? And yeah, sometimes I find myself really attracted to that. But she's also smart and funny and really cool. I'm not gonna ruin anything by thinking with the wrong head."

"Ugh," Gerald sighs and stacks some random magazines onto a small table in the living room, "you'll learn the hard way."

"Learn what?"

"That mother nature doesn't allow two ridiculously similar people to be together without _the urge._ "

Hands curled like fake claws, he slashes at nothing and humps the air.

"What the hell," I laugh, "is wrong with you?"

"Nada. I'm just not in denial. If you asked me what I want to do to Phoebe I could give you an itinerary."

"Please don't man. I don't need that in my head."

"You don't have any room in your head, dreaming of Miss Pataki and that Kendall-Jenner-body-plus-Kylie Jenner-rack."

I give him the side eye and he shakes his head. "Hey man, just because I'm not in the least bit interested doesn't mean I can't see it. Instagram. No offense meant."

"None taken. But I really do like being friends with her. So lay off it, alright? I don't need her thinking I'm just trying to get in her pants. Cause I'm not."

Gerald mutters under his breath, "Not yet, cause you're slow."

"That's it..."

I poke the end of the broom stick against his ass and enjoy the high pitched _'CHILL MAN!'_ that squeaks out of him. Ah, those best friend priviledges.

* * *

A few hours go by and we've managed to pull both the house and ourselves together. We've cleaned. Organized. Tag teamed a recipe for bbq pulled pork. I'm showered and relaxing in some sweats and a white tee, reading a dog-eared copy of 'Ishmael' for the hundreth time. Heavy clinking echoes in the kitchen- Gerald checking the crockpot the meat's in- and the sweet, tangy smell fills the air.

"We did good Arnold," he says with a nod and lick of his lips. "Good thing your grandma and my dad actually taught us a valuable skill. Doesn't hurt that the ladies like it either. Gimme some thumb sugar."

As he walks past me the sleeve of his red thermal touches my hand and we hook them together, wiggling thumbs the way we have since we were kids. It's the stuff of brotherhood.

"Julian's getting the drinks?" I ask from behind a page.

"Yeah, bookworm. I gave him our share. He knows the girls want Angry Orchard and I told him Budlight or Heineken would be fine. I'm not trying to blow chunks in front of anyone."

"Cool. He bringing that Samantha girl?"

"Nah, I think he said he gave up on that. She tried to get him to eat tofu or something."

We stick out our tongues and laugh.

The sun's setting earlier nowadays but I can tell it's closer to the evening now. Not much light coming through the windows anymore. We agreed on seven thirty, so it'll be a couple hours. I've done all my assignments for the week, added the finishing touches on my field sketches, and Mary Poppins-ed the hell outta the house... I pull my phone out and shoot Helga a text:

 **A: Knock knock**

 **Helga: Whose there?**

 **A: No one. It's the sound of me knocking you out at Wii Boxing**

 **Helga: YOU? Best Betsy and the Five Avengers? Don't make me die of premature disbelief**

 **A: ... I forgot you had a mean jab. Haven't seen you punch anyone in ages lmao**

 **Helga: Yeah, Brainy was the last before reality set in. Did you know punching people is assault? Craaazy**

 **A: LOL so violent!**

 **Helga: I prefer defensively aggressive**

 **A: Can't wait :)**

 **Helga: To get your butt kicked? Don't worry, it'll happen**

I'm excited to see her again. We've both been busy with our course work. The type of situation where your schedules never match over and over to the point where you can"t help but think that the universe must hate you. In the end it's given Gerald more time to reacquaint himself with Phoebe, and me more time to keep talking to Helga. The list of what makes up who she is has piled higher:

Her little stspbrother Nathan (who prefers Nate) is six years old and the 'sweetest brat on earth'. She still has an old pink gameboy color that she keeps in a drawer because 'it works perfectly, and I had to beg for weeks to get it!'. Mint brownie chip is her favorite ice cream flavor. The last book she chose to re-read was her old high school-stolen copy of Wuthering Heights ('Are you a Heathcliff or a Linton?' she'd texted me with a couple of silly emojis).

It's the cheesiest thing, but there's something different about Helga. Something worth keeping around even if it does cost me some sexual discomfort... Gerald is right. Hot is the word.

* * *

"Honeys, I'm hooooome!"

Julian announces himself loudly and slams the front door shut.

"Damn it smells good! What were you guys doing while I was gone? Food Network marathon?"

Gerald heads for the kitchen and responds before I can even get up. I walk into their conversation and sit at the table.

"Do you really have to be so damn happy all the time, Julie?" I hear him groan.

"It's a key component of my Lee-ness, Gerald. Can't stop won't stop. I got the booze on the way home. What's for eats?"

"Pulled pork sandwiches. I left the buns beside the crockpot if you wanna have one right away."

"Word. Today was one of those. Some lady came in and threw a fit because she 'couldn't find the whipped cream' in her coffee... After letting it sit for a good ten minutes. Have I told you I hate people?"

Gerad claps him on the back. "Then don't look so inviting all the time."

"I can't help my natural charisma. I blame mom for it. Dad's scary as fuck if you don't know him. He made a little kid cry by handing him his toy when he took me to the playground once."

"That explains so much." I chime in.

"What up Romeo. Doth Juliette tarry?" He gives me a fist bump.

"Yeah, yeah. I think Gerald's playing that role tonight though. Helga's just my friend."

The way both guys look at each other is so sarcastic it almost hurts.

"I'm serious, you better not-!"

Doorbell rings.

"It's time to get this party started!" Lee whips around to get the door, coffee stained tee and all.

"What's up ladies? Julian. Lee if you don't mind. Right this way."

"Oh my, nice to meet you! I'm Phoebe." We hear Phoebe squeak.

"Hey. We meet again." There's a smile in Helgas voice.

"Oh yeah! I do remember. It's nice to see you again."

Lee wiggles his eyebrows at me like the douche he loves to be and steps aside. Helga walks into the kitchen dressed in ripped jeans and a black jacket that makes her blonde ponytail look... blonder. The hem of her pants is rolled up just enough to see a tiny pawprint tattooed just above where her white converses end.

"Arnold!" Phoebe smiles at me. She's like a tiny, pretty fairy. Her black hair falls almost to her waist now, and I notice Gerald watching her so I grin. She's in leggings and a soft blue sweater whose sleeves wrap around me in an unexpected hug. "Look at you. You're tall as a tree!"

"I think you just never grew." We all laugh.

She looks at Gerald and seems to freeze up. He, meanwhile, stands aside beckoning her over. "No, no. None of that. It's been ten fucking years. Come here."

In seconds flat they're hugging like the sort of corny movie couple you'd expect to see running across hills towards each other. "It's good to see you!" My best friend laughs into her hair. I'm sure if he were as pale as Phoebe is, his blush would show too. But I gotta hand it to him; that was well played. "Hi Helga. Looking well."

"Same to you. Hair as tall as ever, huh." Helga smiles then looks around, having shed her jacket. There's a plain lavender tee with a generous v-neck underneath it. I appreciate it immediately.

"Set it on one of the chairs." Lee suggests with a wave of his hand.

"Sure." she nods and then comes over to me.

Helga smells amazing. Like something light and sweet and I wonder whether her skin would taste that way on my tongue. That is not a fucking friendship thought, I remind myself.

"Hiya." Having her hair out of the way brings Helga's face to the forefront, especially her eyes. They're so damn _blue._

"What's up you undercover genius?" I hug her quickly. "You smell good."

"Thanks. I'm great. Ready to kick your ass in the most virtual way possible."

"Oh, that's comforting," I assure her. She chuckles. "Gerald and I cooked so help yourselves to the pulled pork."

"You guys can cook?"

"Without burning a house down?" Phoebe giggles, surprising us all. I think Helga's had an influence on her, for sure. It's refreshing though. Phoebe was pretty softspoken from what I can remember.

It doesn't take long for us to settle into the living room, Phoebe and Gerald on the love seat and the rest of us crammed on the good ol' red couch. Helga's humming right through her sandwich with the most content look on her face before taking a swallow of beer.

"So which games do you have Lee?" Phoebe asks from across us.

"All kinds. Do you want the honors?"

"Oh, certainly!"

As Phoebe combs through the stack of games Lee procures from the tv stand I eat. I can see a good amount of Helga's cleavage because of our height difference (I'm capping at 6'1" so I'm guessing she must be a good 5'7"). Must. Not. Look.

"Helga!" Phoebe startles the crap out of us. "Look!" Just Dance 5 waves back and forth in her hand.

"Nooooo. You wanna smoke 'em that bad Pheebs?"

The reply is a wink. "Me and you babe. Let's kick it."

All three of us men just glance at each other without a damn clue.

* * *

"Move that hip, woman!" Three beers later Helga and Phoebe are side by side on front of the tv. They pick a song by that chick (with the starbucks-size-last-name) and we watch with blank looks as they set it to expert.

 _I got one less one less problem._

"I take it you've both played this before..." Lee starts dying against the couch, grinning like a cheshire cat.

"It's my little brother Nate's favorite game. Got it for his fifth birthday. Dip low Pheebs... Ooh, there we go. Haha!"

They're both in synch, Phoebe surprisingly good (although I'm sure Gerald would be staring at her ass regardless). Helga moves with a little more precision though. I expected her to be an awkward dancer for some reason. But she moves like she's enjoying every second of it, taking a sec to sacrifice points for shimmying herself at Phoebe.

"Get those sweater puppies out of my face, Pataki!" The smaller girl laughs, faltering in her rhythm. Helga just cracks up and keeps time with the beat, singing along poorly. I mean I'm pretty sure we all sound like dying whales when we sing, besides maybe Gerald. I'd have switched places with Phoebe in a heartbeat... and the smirk on Lee's face says he knows it.

When the song ends Lee claps. "You guys are _too_ good at that. How many times were you forced to play?"

"By Nate? Oh god. Fifty thousand at least."

"It helps that she was a cheerleader in high school." Phoebe laughs, collapsing besides Gerald.

I turn to ask Helga. "That true?"

"Y-yeah," she admits sheepishly, "for our teams, the Sharks. I never mentioned it?"

"No." Gerald and I answer at once.

Lee breaks into song. "Ooh I think that I found myself a cheerleader!"

"She's always right there when I need her!" Phoebe finishes.

We stare.

"What? It's a catchy song. I like it!"

Somehow we stop laughing long enough for me to get paired against Lee and look like a dancing dumbass, but it's still really fun. It's a while before everyone has had enough of a workout.

"You two are a blast," Lee starts as he pops in a dvd, "you should come to Mick's with us for the halloween party."

"Mick?"

"Yeah. Tall, douchey football player? Star quarterback of the school? He's in our year but he's hosted an open invite house party for like, every occasion imaginable. Goes without saying you're free to join."

"I'll have to see." Phoebe replies. Gerald asks her something quietly and she smiles, the two heading off towards his room, where the door remains open... but still.

Lee heads for the bathroom and that leaves me alone with Helga. Whether this is on purpose or not they suck. There's an old Eddie Murphy comedy on in the background, the old gritty nineties music trumpeting along.

"You think you wanna get dressed up in costume and come?" I ask her.

"Umm... I'm not really into big parties like that, to be honest."

"Really? How come?"

Immediately I know I've asked the wrong thing as Helga looks down. "Well..."

"You don't have to tell me." I remind her.

"I know." Helga looks up at me with hazy sapphire eyes and sighs, tossing herself so that my lap is her pillow. She plays with her own hair and I chuckle when she smiles up goofily. I can smell the sweet warmth roiling off of her again, along with some coconut-y scent that wafts up from her hair. I wonder if that means she's too close.

"I can tell you. I'm pretty sure." She whispers. "You were always easy to talk to, have I ever told you that? Even when we were little."

"No, you never said. And to think I could've charged you five whole cents like that Peanuts character."

"Lucy?"

"Yeahh. Man I miss that show. The way the adults talk. Wompwompwomp."

"Oh gosh." She giggles. "I remember that! And thinking Peppermint Patty was a boy."

"The correct term is lesbian, Pataki."

"Hush!" She bats at my arm. I look down at her and fake a frown, watching her shirt ride up so that her belly ring catches the light. The skin there is smooth and fair. Her chest rises and falls steadily, and no I did not just notice how her tits heave a little each time, thankyouverymuch.

"About what happened..." With eyes closed she begins.

Helga tells me about her junior year, when her mom had married. How she'd started going out with the most hyped basketball player of the school. He'd been sweet and so different from his friends, she recalled with a shake of her head. There'd been hand holding and first kisses (for her, certainly not him, she shrugged) until the time came for them to go all the way. They had. And then she'd gotten dumped for a senior girl two weeks later. Fast foward to a birthday party a few months after the drama where she ran into a very drunk ex-boyfriend. He'd cornered her into the bathroom-

"And the bastard tried to...to yank my skirt off so I punched him. Broke his nose with Betsy." She kisses a clenched hand. "The entire school knew by morning, of course. Thankfully my stepdad, Elliot, is the good kind. When his family tried to claim I'd needlessly attacked their precious baby boy in a breakup fit, he was ready with a lawyer and the reminder that attempted rape would be the end of his sports career. They settled things quietly so the logistics weren't very clear at the time. But yeah. I haven't been interested in that sort of thing since then."

When did I start running my fingers through the ends of her hair? It doesn't seem to matter, because Helga allows it and damn near purrs when I slide them gently against her scalp.

"That feels nice, Shortman. Olga used to do that for me when I was really little."

I chuckle. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah. But I didn't want her to know so I bit her... God," she draws the word out, "I was so awful."

"Doubt it. Olga loves you. She'd be all over you every time she visited." And I'm not wrong. Olga would gush at Helga as if she were practically her own child, despite their vast differences.

"I know. I love her too."

They aren't words the Helga of my childhood would have ever said with such a genuine smile.

"You look tired."

"I am." She yawns, rolling over. "Do I even wanna know what happened to Phoebe and Geraldo? Are they making little mocha miracles together?"

I laugh so hard that I jostle her.

"I'll risk my eyesight and check." I say as she sits up. I miss the warmth of her on me already, and it's wierd, but I also don't give a fuck because I like it. A quick peek into Gerald's room and I see that he and Phoebe have fallen very innocently asleep beside each other (which is shocking in its own right. Gerald gets laid frequently enough all things concidered). I tell Helga as much.

"Well it's close to one thirty now. Just crash here."

"You gotta blanket?"

"Get up. Not here, here."

The look of confusion that crosses her face is adorable as she follows me to my room.

"Uhh..."

"Relax. I'll crash on the couch. You can have the master suite as long as you're comfortable with it." I dig through a drawer and yank out a dark blue tee and some black boxers."These okay? They're clean, promise. Just did my laundry two days ago."

"Toss 'em here."

Helga splays the shirt against herself. It looks like a huge dress. I chuckle. "This'll be fine. No big deal."

I grab a blanket from my closet and stand by the doorway.

"Any man that doesn't make a big deal out of your comfort isn't good enough for you, you know. G'night."

A look of realization brightens her face. "Goodnight Arnold... Thanks."

With a yawn I head for the couch and pull the covers over myself.

I spend the night trying not to think about the fact that the most amazing girl I already knew is tucked into my bed.

* * *

 _Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas! Thanks for your reviews; they give me life :)_


	5. A Rose by any other name would be Helga

_Okay, so for those of you who don't know what some of the refrences are, just use google. I try not to put anything that will go over anyone's head or otherwise take attention away from the point of the story. Enjoy_.

* * *

I'm a little fuzzy when I wake up. Nothing around me looks familiar, what the f-

Oh yeah. I'm in Arnold's room.

I stretch out against the sheets (they're a nice royal blue) and look around. There's the usual stuff you'd expect. A bed. A pair of dressers, cologne and deodorants clumped together on one and a decent sized flatscreen resting atop the other. There's alot of pictures hanging up on the walls: I see a copy of a Starry Night, some frames arranged to hang filmstrip style featuring him and his grandparents, him and his actual parents, him and Gerald...

I lay on my back and sigh. My makeshift pajamas smell like laundry detergent, the kind that's more on the masculine end of the spectrum, like 'Ocean Breeze' or something. But the sheets have a hint of whatever he wears (I look up. Ah. Burberry. Nice) on them. Once upon a time I'd been a crazy little kid who had snuck into his old room and been enamored. And here I am years later. Life is crazy.

While I'm not necessarily thrilled I am sort of... Excited? Something about being in his bed, wearing his clothes, is making my heart go kinda nuts. Then again it's been a while since I was with anyone so it could just be the sudden intimacy of it all kicking my hormones in the face. Why am I even contemplating this? I haven't even had coffee yet!

A full length mirror hangs on the door of his closet so I check myself out. My ponytail definitely needs a re-do. I showered before coming over so I don't look nearly as tragic as I could have... a splash of water on my face and some listerine is all that's overdue. But damn. This is what chicks in the movies look like after a tryst. Messy but totally at ease. Oh well. No one's dumb enough to assume shit. They know Arnold and I are just friends. Besides, I'm starving.

I open his door quietly and wander towards the bathroom, looking around like I'm in some Bond movie and waiting for the first suspicious thing I find to explode. I guess I still have a bit of a dramatic flair. Sue me. The bathroom isn't the girly haven Pheebs and I have at home, but there's plenty of soap and mouthwash so I make use of it. Once I'm back into sneaky-mode I walk by the living room, right by the mess of blond and blankets that makes up Arnold. He sleeps tucked to one side and snores lightly... it's honestly pretty adorable.

Swallowing a giggle so I don't wake him I continue to the kitchen. I smell the holy grail of morning scents roiling out of the kitchen- hot caffeine- and find Lee in jeans and a tee wandering around, flipping mugs like a bar tender.

"Well good morning, m'lady." He mock bows and pours cream into a cup. "I see you usurped m'lord's sleeping quarters."

"Hardly," I yawn, "they were offered. Where are Geraldo and Phoebe?"

"Left for breakfast." He grins. "Those two reek of history don't they."

"I guess you could say that."

Lee is a little wierd, but not in a bad way. He's... unique? Now that I'm getting a better look at him rather than his personality the kid's pretty easy on the eyes. Long black hair, slight baby face, a muscular build that looks more deliberate than not. He isn't my type but it makes me chuckle. This house is like a den for good looking guys or something, I swear.

"Coffee?"

I nod at his offer wholeheartedly and wait.

"You can grab whatever you want from the fridge. No one'll mind. Our casa su casa, esta bien?"

"Gracias! I notice you don't have an accent. Did you pick it up in school or...?"

"Spanish? It's in my blood, señorita."

"Wait, where are you from?"

He grins. "You'd never guess. At least no one has yet."

"Well I forfeit. So do tell."

"Well my dad is Korean, and my mom is both Puerto Rican and Dominican. They were both in the army and met overseas. Most koreans would never take a foreigner that seriously, I've heard, but dad took one look at mom in that camouflage suit and it was game over. They got married and had me and here I am, mixed as all hell."

"Wow. That is different. You speak korean too?"

"Yep." Lee pops his lips on the 'p'. "Real party trick to anyone that's never heard it. I'm a prince straight out of a k-drama or novella... I usually let the ladies pick." Lee hands me a cup and waggles his brows.

"If I think I know anyone that can handle you I'll be sure to set you up." I nod at him with a laugh.

We both turn at the sound of feet shuffling; Arnold walks into the kitchen with his arms up in a stretch. He looks pretty tired, but it doesn't make him any less nice to look at. He fixes lazy green eyes on me and smiles. "Good morning guys."

I think my ovaries may have just imploded.

* * *

I hear voices on the edge of my sleep. At first I could care less who it is; all I want is to sleep until I can't anymore. But the closer I get to being up the more I realize that it's Helga and Julian talking. I hear her ask where he's from and his reply. I blame it on my zombie state of being, but my mind inmediately wanders to 'Does she like him?' territory. Then she mentions setting him up and my heart sinks away from my throat and back to where it belongs. The hell is wrong with me...

Speaking of zombie, I pretty much drag myself into the kitchen like one. My feet almost refuse to part with the floor. There they are, Lee playing off-duty barista and Helga-

Damn.

She looks so good wearing my clothes. Fresh faced and even a little bit freshly-fucked (even though I know that isn't the case). They hang off of her in the most casual way but she makes it look sexy. I can see why this always happens in movies. The effect of it screams 'She's mine and you can't fucking have her'.

Not. A. Friendship. Thought.

"You hungry?" Helga asks after I greet them, smiling up from her coffee. "Lee already offered me VIP kitchen access."

"Of course he did." I go over to him and punch him lightly in the arm. His military mom and dad are probably to blame for how he treats working out like a routine rather than a chore. Even though he doesn't make it obvious. The sound of our fridge being exploited (that wierd wet suction noise of the door opening) makes me look over to it. Helga's bent over and digging through it, the curve of her ass subtly rising against the fabric of my way-too-big-on-her boxers. Lee notices me noticing her and I smack him on the arm. He chortles like an idiot.

"Sweet!" Helga exclaims as she draws back. "How about pancakes?"

"Aww man. You're gonna cook right as I gotta go?" Lee whines. "No fair!"

She shrugs but sighs sympathetically. "Raincheck? Maybe Pheebs and I can cook next time. She taught me how to make eggrolls that could make a zombie rise hungry."

"I'm down. Gotta be out though. Adult life calls." He says before walking by me with a wink. I love him like a brother... that I sometimes feel the urge to kick.

I watch Helga investigate the cabinets and shelves like she's been here more than this one time. A small pile of things gathers onto the table and ahe points. "Apple cinnamon or banana nut?"

"Hmmm... Apple please."

It's like watching a food network show. I had a crush on the Italian lady at one point, whatever her name was. But even she can't top the way Helga nearly dances around the kitchen with those long legs of hers as she preps breakfast. I have to remind myself to look away and talk for the half hour it takes her to finish everything up.

"You can handle the dishes. It's only fair." She declares as she sets a plate of piping hot pancakes in front of me. They smell so damn good. Like a pie or something similarly autumnal. They melt in my mouth as I take a bite and I sigh.

"Its just applesauce, a little butter, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Easy peasy. Specially with the Aunt Jemima stuff."

"I bo befur yoo cockin qeen."

"Um, what?"

I almost choke on my full bite from laughing. "I said I bow before you cooking queen."

"Next time swallow your food. I'm not CPR certified so it's a guaranteed way to die."

"Harsh!"

She shakes her head and the blonde of her ponytail sways. "I kid. I'd try to save you. Then you'd owe me for all eternity."

"In that case I'll stick with choking."

Helga giggles before outright laughing at me as she damn near saunters to the sink to toss her emptied plate in. Maybe it's just me though. I mean, c'mon. Sauntering? I clearly need a lay or something. She'd kill me if she could read minds.

"Hey," I murmur between bites, "I know you don't want to come to the party..."

The way her eyes narrow in suspicion makes me laugh. "Relax! I was gonna say maybe you could help me with my costume? Hell if I know what to be. Haven't dressed up for Halloween in a whiiiile."

* * *

The second Arnold mentions that party I freeze. Everything I drunkenly muttered at him floods my mind and burns my cheeks. Dammit Helga, you oversharing freak. I might have to duct tape my mouth shut around Arnold once in a while. He's just so familiar! Once he clarifies and shows respect for what I'd said, though, I relax. Sheesh. Ever the gentleman.

"Be one of The Doctors." I say inmediately.

"Why? Which one? You sure I can't convince you to be a Dalek?"

I laugh and shake my head. "I think eleven or ten, personally. And I don't think I can build myself an angry salt shaker costume to hide inside of, but I could walk around and threaten people with a whisk if I was going, which I'm not."

"Aghhh, that'd be amazing. Assault, probably, but still amazing. Why those two?"

He cocks his head and messy cornflower strands fall against his eyes. Arnold looks just like a quizzical puppy for a sec. "Because they're both naive, more or less in your fashion." I reply easily.

"Naive how? What do you mean by that Helga?"

This time I don't answer right away. I glance at him. Arnold, with his plain tee that shows off tan, broadening shoulders and the typically thick curves of a male collarbone (a body part that makes me itch to bite, a fact I've drunkenly confessed to Phoebe, like, three times). He's not buff but not the scrawny little kid I knew either, sinewy muscle hinted at by his forarms and the lack of pouch at his middle even after such a big breakfast.

He's handsome as hell. Hot, really.

And I shouldn't be thinking that, but Arnold really is so naive that I know he won't notice. It doesn't change anything between us, but it's not something I need him to know either. So I smile and say "Case in point. I'm right 99% of the time Shortman. Just go with it."

"What about the other 1%?"

"That's when I'm too busy sleeping to answer."

The laugh that follows is raspy and wholehearted, like lace scraping against steel...

I feel an ancient urge to write my thought down but grin anyway.

* * *

The days fly by after our impromptu slumber party. I scroll through my phone and grin at parts of my ongoing texts with Helga. The same day after she'd left:

 **A: My room smells kinda like you now lol**

 **H: You're welcome :p**

 **A: Really though what kind of enchanting girl smell is this**

 **H: Strawberries and cream shampoo. Magically delicious and deliciously artificial**

 **A: LOL imagine that? A Lucky Charms scented shampoo?**

 **H: I'm going to google that. If it's real it's your xmas gift lol**

 **A: Dammit! Lol**

I see the makeshift pajamas I gave her on a corner of the bed, folded neatly. I unroll the shirt and sniff. Instead of sweat and salt and manstink it reeks of sweet warmth. Helga smells good. Kinda like Hillwood.

* * *

Arnold mentions my scent and I squirm. His whole room smelled like a cocoon of musk and man and something else familiar. Something I remember from my old home.

* * *

We decide on the tenth doc and Helga insists on a long trench coat and fake glasses to go with it. She seems so into the idea that the idea itself no longer seems as dorky as I'd thought. Everytime Gerald talks shit I remind him that he wouldn't be talking to Phoebe if not for me, and he immediately shakes his head. "Whatever you say, Arnold... whatever you say."

I try to talk Helga into being my sidekick Rose just once. She seems to contemplate it before dismissing it again. Can't say I'm not dissapointed. I draw a quick doodle of a a guy in a nice suit who looks mostly like me, and a woman in a big skirt who looks suspiciously like Helga.

They're running straight for the stars.

* * *

"Why are you groaning Helga? Something troubling you?"

Phoebe joins me for a rerun of Friends on the couch in some gray pajamas with a bag of pretzels in hand.

"The party. You're going with Gerald, right?"

My best friend blushes pink. "W-well yes. He invited me, so-"

"Don't act so shy Pheebs. You and Geraldo click. I'm happy for you. Honestly. It's good to see you so gaga. It's cute."

"Helga," she taps my hand with a pretzel that I snatch up. "That's so sweet of you! But you've been pretty happy too as of late. With your... friendship."

"You don't think Arnold and I are just friends? Why would I lie to you Phoebe?"

"I don't think you're lying to me, Helga. But... are you really being honest with yourself?"

Ugh. Here she goes with her thousand year old wisdom. The only person who's right more often than me is Phoebe. I see Nymph lurking at my feet and snatch her up, the furry length of her dangling in the air as I touch my nose to hers. "Am I lying to myself? Huh Nymphy-cat?" Her tail twitches and she purrs but doesn't do much else. I lay the sweet sack of cuddles on my lap and she bumps her head against Phoebe's fingers. "Well you're no help, missy."

"Do you think reuniting with Arnold has caused you to go back to your old... ice cream craving?"

"My wh- oh. Oh." I roll my eyes. Ice cream was Phoebe's gentle codename for Arnold way long ago. Back when I clung to his existence like he was the damn sun or something. Before I knew anything about what love isn't like... I still don't know what it's supposed to be, exactly, but my 'ice cream problem' wasn't it. "Nah, Pheebs. I think he's great. We get along well. We have alot of stuff in common. I don't want to build him a new bubble gum shrine anytime soon, though."

"A what?"

"Never you mind. Arnold isn't ice cream. He's just... Arnold."

"Maybe it's everything else he could be that worries you, then. I mean really, Helga. You like him all over again for who he is now. Don't you?"

"A little!" I shout and burry my head into some cushions like an ostrich fleeing the world. "But so what? I don't wanna ruin things. I don't want to like him because of how I felt before. And I don't wanna be liked just because the Big Guy threw me a bone and turned me into a post-puberty beauty!"

"Come to the party with us." She crunches through her snack. "Or at least concider it. I won't leave you alone if you do. I promise. I'll break someone's arm if they so much as brush up against you wrong. You deserve it, though, Helga. I wasn't there the night things happened to you, but I am now."

Well shit. Phoebe has never been too keen on hitting the nail over the head. Usually she skirts around my darker issues with expert delicacy. I had no idea she still felt responsible for me. She's gonna make me cry. "Pheebs..."

"Yes?"

The room goes silent save Nymph's carborator purr and Joey' Tribianni's obnoxious 'How you doin?' on tv.

I will the sting of tears away and smile. "Wanna help me find a poofy pink skirt?"

"Helping!"

* * *

The night of the party arrives and I get a text from Arnold. A picture. There he is, looking right into the camera with a goofy grin, eyes bright behind a fake pair of specs. His hair is all swept back and coiffed at the front, a long trenchcoat onscuring my view of much else.

 **H: You look fantastic, doc!**

 **A: Thanks. It's nerdy as hell but I like it**

 **H: Told ya**

 **A: You still sure you won't come with?**

I flatten a stray hair against my up-do as I look into the mirror, my fifties themed outfit reflected back at me. Phoebe was able to get me a seriously pretty pink a-line skirt from the bridal shop to wear for the night. The jean jacket, pumps, and headband weren't hard to come by as I already owned them. I look more or less like the show's sassy blonde female lead in an episode that involved trying to visit said time period.

 **H: We'll see Shortman. You never know ;)**

Shaking my head at the not-too-subtle hint, I head out for the night to try and forget the scars my last party left behind a few years ago.

I meet up with a samurai, a geisha, and a very specific looking soldier.

Gerald, Phoebe, and Julian.

"Okay I get you guys," I motion towards my best friend and my friend's best friend (gotta get used to that), "so points for being a matching set. What are you Lee?"

"A mystery, Helga. Arnold and I have bets on him really being an alien. No joke." Gerald shakes his head in mock sadness.

"Snake from Metal Gear Solid! I borrowed my old man's suit. Nerdy, but the girl of my dreams will know." He winks and we let out a collective sigh against his loud "Whaaat?" Phoebe links her arm in mine and smiles. Her makeup is so pretty, her skin paper white, bright red streaked across her lips and perfectly angled liner above each eye. "Ready to find your Doctor? I know he's here somewhere. Gor here a bit before we did."

I look down at her and smile. "Naw. I think I'm good Pheebs. No drinking on my end. I'll find him myself. You think he'll like the get-up?"

"I think he'd like you in a potato sack at this point, ' _Elgah._ "

"Oh _Phobee_ , shut your trap."

We laugh madly in memory of the way a pop star we'd gotten to meet had butchered our names, in that thick accent of his. Once we split up I realize this house is bigger than I imagined. The kitchen has an island and the dining room is big enough for a dinner straight outta Game of Thrones. I pull out my phone and shoot Arnold a text before calling him up. No response. And no way you'd ever hear a ring over the sound of Muse's Supermassive Blackhole blaring over whatever expensive speakers they readied.

I turn the corner that joins the hallway to the living room.

 _Criminy._

It's a shit-faced fuck-fest everywhere you look: Dinosaur on fairy, Barbie on Nicki, basketball jock on vampire. Some people at least try to look more discrete, but most just let their hands wander like suggestions. It's almost amazing how ignorant they are of one another, each pair in their own impenetrable bubble of lust.

That's when I look down at the couch closest to my post and almost drop my phone.

"I'll bet..." I hear Arnold rasp at the chick straddling his lap. She's red haired and bottom heavy, her entire body hugged by a black pleather suit. There are half gloves on her hands, her face mostly obscured by a little black mask that ends in points. Ah. Cat woman. Very original.

"Who's gonna have better pussy than the queen herself?" I hear her selling herself like a pro.

I expect Arnold to give her a dirty reply, but he chooses to say nothing. Instead his large hands cup an equally sizeable ass and bring her to a grind against his obvious hard-on.

Red takes the lead and rocks back and forth with a smile... I'm pretty sure I can see her nipples poking against the front of her costume. Then Arnold takes it up a notch in a way I'd never have imagined: his hand travels up her side and between her breasts, settling onto one side of her neck in a soft grip as his thumb strokes... Up, down, up, down... He slides the other up over her body- squeezing over what matters as he goes- yanking her down for a kiss. Her hips never stop moving.

 _"Fuck."_ He swears quietly against her mouth. I don't think I've ever heard him cuss before. Without knowing why I stood there for this long I turn to go.

I can't get away fast enough.

* * *

 _Please let me know how I'm doing :) Happy New Year's all!_


	6. You ain't never had a friend like me

_Please read the bottom note when you finish, if you can! Thanks for all the reviews, even the angry ones. It motivated me to finish this waaay sooner than intended_.

* * *

 _Just come to the party, Helga. I won't let anyone hurt you. I could probably help you forget the bastard that touched you, too, if you let me try. Heal you a bit at a time like a real doctor_.

Those are the thoughts I will into the night as I hop out of the Uber that leaves me in front of a massive house. Everyone else was taking their sweet time at home, meanwhile I had to leave my very part-time job as a cashier at Blick's art supplies to head straight here.

It's chilly, a merciful forty five degree night as far as my cell is concerned, but it doesn't stop girls in short costumes from littering the front lawn as they arrive. Sexy fairies, sexy nurses... hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I saw a sexy burrito costume at this point.

I walk in to a crowd of people with enough mixed body heat between them to hatch a baby chick early. Sheesh. They weren't kidding about this being such a big event. I make my way past strangers and a few of the faces I recognize from class. The kitchen has a bar of it's own piled onto the island in the middle: I see Grey Goose, Captain Morgan, five different types of beer, four different colors of wine, and enough chasers to make almost anything imaginable. And that's just what I recognize. God only knows what's in the other crazy looking bottles Ive never seen before.

I grab a red plastic cup and contemplate what to drink for a bit, stopping to text Gerald and Lee in a group chat. I send a few fire and thumbs-up emojis so they know the party is worth the trip.

"You look like a coke and henny kinda guy." A voice- female and rich- decides from beside me.

Whoa.

Her hair is on fire; the red of it is vibrant and glossy as hell, that is. She's decked out in fake leather save her finger tips and the bottom half of her face. And she's so damn curvy. At first I'm not even sure she's talking to me. It's not that I think myself ugly or anything, but girls like that don't tend to go for me.

 _"You're like the creme de la creme of white boys, Arnold." Lee had clapped me on the back once after one of our first nights out, in which I'd been all but ignored by this long haired hispanic chick. "You wouldn't know your Marc Anthony from your Prince Royce, and that upsets them_."

"I bartend part time," she grins. I then notice that her mask ends in little cat eared points. "So I have a knack for drink picking. How about it?"

Catwoman is a full head shorter than me. But despite being so randomly straightfoward she seems friendly, not sleazy. So I smile back politely. "I don't usually have more than beer or vodka."

"You're telling me you came to this booze paradise and you're gonna walk away con solo una fria? Sorry, I meant just a beer. The spanish slips out too often when I drink. My name's Ariella, by the way. I prefer Ari if it's all the same to you."

I laugh. She's got alot of energy. "Arnold. Okay, fine. I'll try it, that drink you mentioned."

"Haha,"she makes a fist of triumph. "You don't look like you've ever come anywhere close to this stuff so I'll go easy on the cognac. This'll be some real gangster shit to you, probably." She starts pouring soda over this dark brown alcohol. "I kid. Just stay the hell away from the unlabled bottles. It's moonshine and a baby like you will die."

"A baby? That's what you look like from way up here." I spit out without meaning to.

"Ooh, he's sassy! I like it!" She shoves a red cup at me. "Here. Taste one of life's simplicities. You aren't a freshman or something, are you?"

I take a sip. It's a stronger flavor than what I normally have, but goes fine with the coke. It's good, and the heat of the drink warms my throat and stomach. Good thing I ate before coming. "Nah. Sophomore."

"Ah, okay. You can take care of yourself then."

"Are you by yourself or...?"

"Yeah, my girl was supposed to meet me here and then bailed to go hang with some guy. What are you gonna do? I didn't squeeze into this shit to go back home. Who are you dressed like?"

"A doctor from a wierd show."

"I believe it!" Ariella laughs, head tossed back. "But it works on you. The trench coat is dope. I was half expecting you to be the crazy ass that shows up trying to sell people drugs, but when I got a better look at you you just seemed lost."

"Yeah. I'm waiting on some friends of mine for now."

She pours herself some vodka and juice. "Nice. Well how about we be party buddies. At least until one of us needs to split."

"Well... alright. Why not. Not like I know many people here."

"I know enough, but aquaintances don't always make for good convo, know what I mean?"

I down the rest of my drink and hand her the cup with a grin. "Yeah. Another drink please, Catwoman."

"A la orden, doctor!" She laughs in that wild way of hers and hands me a refill. "Now let's go find a place to be outcasts."

We find unoccupied space on a pretty plush couch and sit. After a while she giggles at me with a smug face. "Diablo. Who has you around her pinky, huh? And don't tell me it isn't a girl. I know those faces. You've reached for your phone a hundred times in the last five minutes."

The coke and henny slosh in my stomach, making me feel wavy. Hazy, but in a nice way. The relaxed, who gives a fuck sort of blur setting in.

"Damn. You really are good."

"I knooow. So who is she? You're a looker so I bet she's pretty, huh."

"She is. But she's my childhood friend."

"Oooh. Friendzone issues?"

"No... I mean, I don't know. I'm like... attracted to her. Really badly. But I don't think telling her is worth losing her. That make sense?"

"Yes, yes. Slow down you. That's the last cup you get until later. Man... you're sweet, Arnold. And good looking. Just tell her."

"We can't all be as crazy blunt as you, Ari." I chuckle. My voice sounds low as fuck. I'm well on my way to drunk.

"So you're just gonna have blue balls over her forever? Geez. You really are cute. Too pure for this world. I bet you're still a virgin and everything, on some Notebook shit." Ariella cackles.

"What makes you think that?" I hear myself growl. Shit. She wouldn't be talking like that if she was under me, that's for sure.

"I was teasing, blondy. Calmate. I'm sure you're fine."

"Which it then, Catwoman. Am I a virgin or aren't I?"

It's then that I notice everything. The way so many people are paired off and sucking face in every corner of the room. Couples of every gender sneaking touches and laughing drunkenly. The kind of college party you only ever hear about but never see for yourself.

Damn.

Ariella's hip is right near mine- thick and lush- to the point where I can feel the heat of her skin through the costume.

"Is that an invitation?" She asks in a low purr, her dark eyes shining in the fuck or be fucked lighting.

Suddenly the weight of her is straddled over my lap. "I'll be straightfoward with you. I'm not some party whore who lurks in corners waiting to devour people. But I do have needs. And if you've gone without as long as I think we both have, it could be nice. I'm not looking for any hand holding bullshit right now. Broken hearts take a while to heal, ya know?"

"I hear you."

I look her over. She's pretty and warm and real, and my dick's already waking up from its hundred year slumber right beneath her. Our gazes are unsteady on each other as we both become a couple of drunken decisions in the heat of it all.

Minutes later I find myself tangled with a girl I barely know, and while it wouldn't be the first time, it's definitely one of the few. My mind is practically gone. All I feel is handfuls of ass... her mouth tastes like pineapple and liquor... she's whispering some very dirty words. It's only a matter of time.

We make it to a bathroom so she can grip the sink and arch her back like a real cat. I don't even know who puts the condom on me. Ari is tight, the kind of wet vice a girl only gets after a little while of celibacy. My head spins and I groan at the slap that echoes every time I thrust foward.

"...There!" She begs with a hiss, so I give it to her. Grab her where neck joins shoulder and pull her body into the tightest bow against me. The way her pussy clenches at that... fuck. Red hair shifts again and again. I know that little cry. She's close already. Pushing back against me and dragging me with her. I slam into it with clenched teeth.

One.

Two.

 _ThreeFourFiveSix..._

There we go. She's crying out shit I can't understand or give a fuck about because I'm coming, too. Pulling out as it happens and panting up at the ceiling. After a while we look at each other and laugh.

"Do that to her," Ariella pants in a rough voice, "and she might throw friendship out the window. Damn, I needed that."

"I think I did too."

Once we're more or less put together we walk out of the bathroom with as much nonchalance as two newly sexed up people can muster. I reach for my phone. Three missed calls from Helga. A picture of her looking beautiful as ever in a pink skirt, dressed up just like Rose.

Fuck my life.

* * *

 **A: Helga? Did you leave? I didn't know you were gonna come! Where are you?**

 **A: Hello? You home safe?**

 **A: ?**

Helga doesn't respond to a single text or call.

* * *

Two weeks go by without so much as a word from Helga, the November weather cooling down as if to match her sudden lack of communication with me. Even Phoebe doesn't know what happened. Only that Helga left as quickly as she got there, assuring her that she'd gotten home safe by snapping her a picture of her cat Nymph sitting on top of her heels. We're all sitting together for lunch, sans our missing blonde, when I feel a flick at my neck.

"Who the-?"

"What up doc?"

It's Ari, her heart shaped face no longer obscured by black. Her lips match her hair and she looks even smaller than I remember, all wrapped up in jeans and a sweater that might be a bit big on purpose.

"Hi." She waves at everyone. "I'm Ari. Met this lost little lamb at the Halloween party. Just thought I'd be awkward and say hola."

Questions get exchanged. She's a junior. Fashion design major and marketing minor. Works at a bar her aunt owns, so she can get away with bartending even though she won't be twenty one until March. Has an upcoming fashion show she's been making outfits for which is why four out of her ten fingers sport bandages. She leans over Lee's shoulder and her eyes light up at his sketches. Asks him if he might want to collab on some video game inspired clothing designs, because his are badass. They tentatively trade facebooks and then she runs off. Thankfully everyone waits till Ari's gone to interogate me.

Gerald covers Phoebe's ears against a squeal of 'Your hands are freezing!'

"Whoa, whoa, whoaaa. Did you hit that?"

"At the party?" Lee chimes in. "You dirty dog!"

I sigh a puff of air into the cold. "Yeah, okay? That a crime?"

"Oh shit. Maybe Helga knows, you idiot!"

Phoebe pulls away from Gerald and looks at me. Hard. Like if looks could kill I'd be dead yesterday.

"You're an ass, Arnold. I know you're just friends but-"

"But what, Pheebs? Something not being said here?" Lee asks softly.

"Ugh! It's not for me to say! If you really are Helga's friend you talk to her! I don't care how you do it, just do it! If you can't be her friend for whatever reason, tell her so! You're both so ridiculous..."

"Whoa, boo. Calm down." Gerald tries to soothe her.

"She's my best friend. I will not calm down untill they stop acting so... so crosseyed!"

"Crosseyed?" I murmur hesitantly. Phoebe has gotten pretty scary on the low. Jesus.

"It's her nice way of calling you both dumbasses." Gerald clarifies with a smirk.

"I'm going to text you a time and place and I want you to show up there, alright?" The little spitfire glares at me. "She'll be there and so will I. And don't say you can't. I'm already pissed off enough as it is. I didn't expect all of this drama."

The guys all look from her to me and stare. "... Yes ma'am."

I guess I'd better start panicking.

* * *

My handwriting is neat and girly. Pressed onto the page with angry stokes and miserable loops. When was the last time I felt this way? And why now? It's not like he belongs to me. _'But it's not like you don't want him to. Even just a bit.'_ My mind throws back at me. Is it possible to hate the rational, honest part of yourself this much?

Texts come nearly everyday, and everyday I ignore them. I'm not a good friend. Friends don't get jealous of their friend's sexcapades. They don't cross Ariel off their favorite Disney Princess list just because they saw their friend hook up with a redhead. A real friend would cheer him on for getting some. Not be bothered that he did.

 _'You are bothered though.'_ And I am. It makes me itch on the inside to picture Arnold with that girl, and there's a hundred reasons why. She looked nothing like me. Shaped like every man's quintessential coke-bottle dream babe. Is that his type then? She wasn't afraid to tell him what she wanted. And she got to do things I'd only ever pictured fleetingly. I can't unsee it. Can't stop wishing it was me, if I'm honest. Wondering what his too-white teeth would feel like on my lip, how his hands would feel sliding against me.

What his dick would feel like rocking between my legs, instead.

A guy as sweet as Arnold became a rough, hungry man right before my eyes that night, and some part of me wants to know him that way. That and every dorky, artistic, old-fashioned facet of him. God... what is wrong with me? How can I like him this much again?

I text him real quick. Finally.

 **H: Hey. My bad, I've been busy lately. When I got to the party you seemed, uhh, busy yourself so I went home. Nbd. Way to work that charm, Shortman ;)**

Being a good friend fucking hurts.

I toss my phone next to my notebook. Onto an unfinished poem I've been mulling over for a few days. There's not much time left before the Slam, and I'm no where close to making it sound... real enough.

 _Golden locket_

 _I kept in my pocket_

 _I pressed to my chest_

 _And wore like a chain_

 _Heart shaped weight_

 _That halted my gait_

 _I lifted you free_

 _Never wore you again_

 _Face I remember_

 _Made me a pretender_

 _How is it I still_

 _Feel you under my skin?_

 _Love unrequited_

 _That life quickly smited_

 _Has wandered before me_

 _Like memories lost_

 _Golden locket_

 _Rolled onto my sleeve_

 _Could it be_

 _That's where I now wear you?_

 _Love so simple a thing_

 _That you've started to sing_

 _Back to life_

 _With no one to guide you?_

An old, tarnished locket glimmers beneath the small lamp on my desk, beside my pencil and phone. The screen of my cell lights up after a few minutes.

 **A: Helga I'm so damn sorry. I wanted you to come so we could have fun. Not so you could walk in on me... doing that. Just because we're friends doesn't mean it wasn't wrong. I promised to keep you company if you showed up. I just had no idea you were going to. You're costume was beautiful. I'm an idiot. Can you please forgive a friend for scarring your innocent eyes? Please?**

I smile but the pain is still there.

 **H: Yeah, yeah, you hornball. Apology half accepted**

 **A: Half?**

 **H: You had me in heels for no reason. So yes, half. You have some making up to do. Good luck**

 **A: Challenge accepted**

 **A: I missed talking to you. Is that odd?**

 **H: Do you think it's odd?**

 **A: I think I'm just glad to hear from you again. I'm already used to having you back**

 **H: Me too**

That night I dream of Arnold, sweat glazed and gorgeous, ruining me from head to toe. Lust or the beginning of love... I don't freaking know. But I touch myself to his imaginary moans in the dark and come with a blanket between my teeth, shivering for a man who I'm learning to want all over again.

This time more intensely than before.

* * *

 _Oh my gosh. Guys. I'm sorry you all hated how the last chapter ended so let's have a little heart to heart for a sec. Keep in mind I've been on both ends of that kind of situation, so flame me if you like, but at least know I've lived it. Yes, Arnold and Helga are interested in each other. However, neither has actually said so to the other. They're both ultimately unsure about their feelings. They've established a foundation of friendship that neither is willing to ruin, therefore making it clear there is NOTHING going on between them. They are not boyfriend or girlfriend, or even dating. Being attracted to someone doesn't make them yours! Also keep in mind that Arnold is drinking and is human. He's crushing on a girl he's certain he can't have and met someone who gets what that feels like in some way. His timing was just shit. It's called life, my dears, and it happens. Sometimes it's ugly. Have faith. I'm not writing this to keep them apart! :) *hugs*_

 _Ps: I'm not going to argue with anyone about what is morally right and wrong here. Everyone's life is different and this is just a story. If you want uncontested fluff I'm sure this site can fufill those needs with other fics? I'm not sure if I like the format of this story compared to others I've written, so I'd love some thoughts on that rather than how much you hate Ari lol. Thanks peeps!_

Rant over!


	7. Somewhat caught in the act

_I'm sorry this is so short! And that my poetry is garbage! The next chapter will be longer. It was this or lose track and let this story die... which I do not want by any means._

 _ **Disclaimer:** I don't own any Coldplay songs/lyrics, but listening to "Adventure of a lifetime" helped me out quite a bit._

* * *

Things between Helga and I don't fully return to normal.

Not that they ever were, when I think about it.

But now it feels like someone's wedged a sheet of tracing paper between us. Like something's been permanently blurred. We text again and talk and laugh... Then hesitate and shy away. If I'd known she was going to come to that party...

What would it have changed? I like her, but it's not like she knows that. It's not like she isn't free to do whatever (or whomever) she wants, as much as the thought sometimes makes my skin itch. I'm in the same boat! Single and definitely not trying to ruin a childhood friendship by telling her how much I wish she'd let me touch her long hair or hold her hands and hips and breasts...

Fuck my life.

I think back a lot to when we were younger. Smart for the fourth graders we were, yet still oblivious to so many things. Helga was so angry then. Always a bristling menace in pink, untouchable behind a wall of threats and fists.

I remember the confession she'd literally screamed from the rooftops and wonder how much of it was true. If she'd really spent all that time covering up feelings besides hatred towards me. I grab my sketchbook and flip through it and my memories:

A dull colored overcoat blowing in the wind. The frantic look on her face. The way my stomach had clenched (in fear and confusion and hell, excitement?). It all comes together in a mass of lines. Helga kissing me atop a corporate building, changing the way I looked at her forever. I guess I never really forgot.

But this isn't about the past, I sigh. This is about starting over in the best way possible. Maybe part of that involves a little honesty... The sketchbook sits silently in front of me.

I have some serious thinking to do.

* * *

The days become weeks and eventually we get our first snowfall of the season. Nothing newsworthy, but enough to blanket everything in a coating of sparkling white. A good excuse to whip out my white charcoal pencils if nothing else. I love the sharp, cut-into-your-breath chill of November. I pull out my phone and turn it over in my palm a good twenty times before sending a message.

 **A:** Hot chocolate? I know a bomb ass spot. And no, it isn't Starbucks

Will she want to see me? Has it been long enough? I haven't spoken to Ari since the one night. Or any other girl for that matter. Not because I can't but because I find myself not _wanting_ to.

 **H:** I'm both disturbed and intrigued. Meet me by the science building around 3?

 **A:** Sounds like a plan

Ducking my chin into the moss green of an alpaca scarf my parents brought back from San Lorenzo, I lean against the wall to wait for Helga. It'll only be a few more minutes but cloudy days tend to make everything slow and drag on.

"Hey Arnoldo!"

There's the sound of her voice- high and strong- as she waves from behind the rest of the crowd of tired, fleeting students. A bun, leggings, boots, and fuzzy baby blue coat. The blonde of her hair stands out like a sunny halo, strands untucked in certain places. Pink shimmer sits on her cheeks and lips. Always looking like an angel, this girl.

"How was it?" I ask as she reaches me.

A scoff. "You know. A delectable smorgasbord of animal behavior, cellular functions and stupid questions. Easy, but not my thing."

"Biology is interesting though. All that stuff you can't see at first glance or even understand."

Helga follows me without much protest, her feet sinking into the powder beneath them.

"I think it's the professor. Just not an interesting guy in the least. You can tell he's up there trying to decide whether to make a paycheck or run off to another country."

"That's... Pretty observant." I chuckle. Listen as she tells me all about the magical world of cell division and their intro into the very violent world of animal mating rituals.

"It was eye opening."

"In what way?'

"Ducks rape their mates and sometimes murder them in the process. Peacock males are colorful to attract the plain, ugly females. Bonobo monkeys are ruled by females and use mating as a tool to resolve problems. And us humans? We sit around waiting for someone we like to like us back."

As Helga shakes her head with a smile I notice the color of her cheeks grow a little richer than before. A touch of rose that has nothing to do with makeup.

It suits her.

I nearly drag her inside of this little French patisserie that makes all kinds of foreign desserts. And killer hot drinks. Their hot chocolate is my favorite- rich and creamy. None of that artificial sweetness you get out of a packet of Swiss Miss. Helga and I decide to sit in and sip out of the gigantic mugs they put it in. Get the full experience.

"Oh wow. This is good. Belgium chocolate?"

"I think so. Gee, you've got a refined palette there, huh." I note aloud.

She sets her cup down, completely unaware of the whipped cream moustache on her upper lip. I choke on my laugh while she hums along to the Coldplay song floating almost lightly out of hidden store speakers. It's catchy-

 _I feel my heart underneath my skin._

Edgy poetry. Definitely up her alley. And way funnier when sung with fluffy facial hair.

"What gives? Do I have an extra head I don't know about?"

At her concern I make motions at her upper lip, but she doesn't catch on and it's pretty adorable.

"Fuck it," I laugh, "come here."

There's a dangerous sass that crosses Helga's face when she's reluctant. Her brows sharpen to points and her lip curls up, and I'm pretty sure her left fist clenching (is that one Betsy? Or the Avengers?) is a habit she might never outgrow. But the effect is softened by the way I present the napkin in my hand and dab the topping away gently.

"I should've taken a pic!"

"Aw, you should've. Would've sent it to Pheebs and told her I blew a cloud or something."

"Helga G. Pataki. That is positively vulgar." I mimic Phoebe in a terribly high pitch that my scruffy voice can't manage for shit. Is it weird that I count the way she tosses her head back to laugh out loud as a victory? Oh well. Definitely a win in my book. The conversation moves on to our short Thanksgiving break that's coming up soon. Whether turkey ought to be baked or daringly deep fried.

"Ugh, Shortman. You haven't lived until you've had a crispy, juicy butterball. The one year Big Bob did it he almost burned his brows off, but it was worth it."

"You looking forward to going home?"

Helga nods. "Yeah. Olga says she has something to tell me. She's already engaged so I'm guessing she's probably picked a wedding date or something." A pleased sort of smile lingers on her lips.

"You look happy." I murmur almost dreamily. Like an idiot.

"Really? Well... we have gotten close. It's nice. To finally understand each other better. I guess it's one of those things I didn't know I wanted."

"Those kinds of things are the hardest to figure out."

For a second her strong blue eyes bore into me, the only sound between us a mixture of bass and guitar-

 _We are diamonds taking shape._

Helga breaks the silence. "Yeah... I guess they are, aren't they."

What else does she mean right now? I want to ask but don't. Instead I scratch behind my neck and move away from the waxy, tracing paper wall.

"I'm glad my parents will be home in time for it. Maybe it's because they were gone so long, but missing them is easy. I feel like they'll disappear for good if I let them out of my sight. Really stupid for a grown ass man, isn't it?"

"No."

That stare. Helga eyes me with an expression I've never seen on her face. Some crazy toss up of pity, frustration, and tenderness? Whatever the hell it is, it makes me want to curl up against her. My hand itches at the lack of pencil and paper to record the memory onto.

"You spent half your life without them, Arnold. There's nothing irrational about cherishing them that much. I think almost everyone has something they're scared of losing. It's a human thing. Personally I don't think it's the loss that scares us though. It's more like… not knowing what comes after, or when, that terrifies people. But what do I know, huh football head?"

"A lot more than you let on, Pataki."

Long lashes wink at me. "Knowledge is power."

A buzz that seems louder than it really is reverberates beneath the table. My cell. I pick it up to determine the culprit.

"Gerald." I mutter without looking up at Helga. I'm sure she'd assume it was Ari, but hell, the chick doesn't even have my number. I don't even know why it matters. Just fucking _does._

 **G:** Don't forget, the thing Phoebe invited you to is tn. She said I can't come so you better make sure people know she's taken

 **A:** Sooo you her man now or…?

 **G:** We haven't had that talk yet… but as far as I'm concerned, hell fuckin yeah I am

Grinning, I glance up at Helga's look of 'wtf.'

"You're best friend might be spoken for soon." I clarify.

"Wanna bet on how long that'll take? Those two are something else. I say another month at least."

"No way! Gerald's serious about her. I'm calling two weeks tops."

"Oh, you're on. We might both be wrong though. Some people are just that oblivious to the obvious!" Our laughter is drowned out by the sound of the music turning up just a little higher.

 _Oh you make me feel like I'm alive again._

* * *

I completely forgot.

Shit, shit, shit.

As soon as I get home my phone lets off a reminder alarm:

 **Poetry Slam 8pm!**

Yanking the notebook I scribbled in towards myself, I sit at my desk, blowing air into Nymph's goofy face as she hops atop it to study me. Rereading my poem makes me cringe. It's terrible. A rhyming batch of nonsense. There's nothing heartfelt about it. Not really. Something about it makes it come across like a grocery list of random facts and I gotta say, I hate it.

What am I supposed to read then?

Hell, at this rate a grocery list might sound brilliant, if I wear a beret and despair during the recitation. Which is absolutely not an option. I tell myself to think, to feel, but… what, exactly?

The afternoon with Arnold was nice. In the weeks since the Catgirl Debacle (as I like to refer to it when talking to Pheebs) we hadn't hung out. Talked and texted, sure, but it felt like we were learning one another all over again. Hi, I'm Helga. Nice to meet you. I think I might be falling for you- _again_ \- so can you please not bang random ass girls until I can admit it to you?

Not exactly a reasonable request. Especially being an eligible bachelorette myself. Still…

That smile of his was almost warmer than the cocoa. Unless it was my imagination, which at this point in my life I have no problem admitting it could have been. But he'd cleaned the whipped cream off my face and blinded me with those pearly teeth and green eyes, and suddenly Halloween almost didn't matter anymore. The boy, er, man, was experienced, and I'd seen firsthand just what hid beneath Arnold's sensibilities.

Something about seeing someone as morally righteous as Arnold in the throes of lust makes my skin crawl. Partly in disgust, then envy, and then odd fascination. What did it feel like when he let loose on a woman? Would it be different if he liked her? Loved her? Would he nip sweetly or bite savagely?

Nymph meows, startling me out of perverse reverie.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it."

Suddenly it hits me. A rush of inspiration is like a different sort of lust. One that takes hold of me and makes my skin prickle from head to toe. Except that I'm also partly aroused at this point, so it's impossible to tell whether it's talent or hormones making my hand fly across lined pages.

About a half an hour later, I sigh.

"I did it Nymph. Wish me luck." My cat's tail twitches as she purrs.

That's my girl.

* * *

Phoebe meets me in front of a small café at a quarter past eight, as promised.

Thanks to Gerald talking about her almost constantly I'm reminded of her swordsmanship skills:

" _She'll probably castrate you if you don't show up." He'd smirked as Lee pretended to cut his own bits off and toss them at me. Dumbasses._

I let Gerald know what she's wearing- plain olive sweater and jeans, no makeup- and remind him that I'll be with her the whole time. And here I thought I had it bad.

"Hello Arnold!" The tiny girl my best friend loves waves cheerfully. "I'm glad you made it."

"You didn't really give me a choice, Phoebe." I laugh.

"No," she says thoughtfully, "I suppose I didn't. Are you ready? Good. Come on."

With more strength than anyone her size should have, Phoebe yanks me into a dimly lit coffee shop. The sort of place where people go to write novels that change the world, or meet the eccentric love of their lives in movies. It's even got a stage highlighted by a single spotlight, a soft spoken woman with dark skin and hair down to her waist reading aloud.

Oh. I get it.

"Are we at a poetry slam?" I ask Phoebe foolishly.

She nods and hisses a whispered answer. "Yes! You can't be loud though. It's rude. And she doesn't know you're here."

"Helga doesn't, I mean, she's gonna read poetry?"

"Shh! Watch!"

I'm literally put in my place as she pulls me down into a seat at an unoccupied table. The woman onstage ends her piece in a solemn voice before the room erupts into a chorus of snapping fingers. A single stool in front of the mic is vacated to make room for the following participant.

Helga.

Striding onstage in an oversized sweater and short heeled boots, long pale legs settling gracefully as she takes a seat. Blonde hair is still piled high on her head, her lips a dark mauve, lashes charcoal black. I watch, frozen, as her hands grip the microphone and her voice fills the room, heavy and sweet:

" _Cartography._

 _If I could travel anywhere, beloved_

 _How far wouldn't I go_

 _Towards the edges of your dreams_

 _And equator of your soul."_

There's a lull to her azure eyes as if she were seducing the room.

" _The horizon of your eyes_

 _Where the sun rises anew_

 _And the darker, secret coves_

 _Where it only ever sets."_

Pink tongue darting out of full lips as she speaks.

" _To places that belong with mine_

 _Where rings of fire burn your skin_

 _Plains of moonlight where I'll dance_

 _Until the stars breathe into me."_

Fingers gripping the stand of the mic delicately, almost erotically, as if she were whispering secrets into something lewd.

" _Traverse the atlas that you are_

 _Map contours of your jagged heart_

 _Then tear the world that makes you up_

 _Until I too am half the part."_

I feel fucking hypnotized.

The audience snaps furiously, Helga's feet making a soft 'thump' as she rises to bow and disappear as quickly as she came. It's a shrill voice that sobers me up.

"Well? What'd you think, Arnold?" Phoebe smiles triumphantly at me.

"She's… that was amazing. Does she do this a lot?"

"Oh… I'm sure she'll be more than happy to tell you herself. I must make my exit though, if I do say so myself." I don't know who the hell Phoebe waves at, then runs from, until I turn around.

The poet herself stands before me with wide doe-eyes and crossed arms. I want her to speak in music again.

"A-Arnold?"

My name just became a fucking melody.

* * *

 _TBC_


	8. One step foward

_The usual warnings and notes apply. Shorter than intended but I've been very busy (I'm sooorry). Enjoy._

* * *

Reading in front of an audience is a unique kind of exposure.

In fact I'd say standing in front of a group of art students while naked as a newborn had been easier by comparison. All they could see was my body. Reciting for anybody but myself is like being nude and then shedding my skin, too. A glimpse of innermost thought. A baring of the soul.

The poem I'd written had poured out of me from a place where I suspect it had been growing slowly, hiding from me until I stopped being such a wuss and sought it out: My feelings towards Arnold. The same, yet nothing like before. Something that had withered a long time ago but left a seed in its place, circumstance fueling its growth.

Criminy, if the full blown metaphoric thinking isn't proof that I like him I wouldn't know what is.

But it's honest. The things I say are true and as I grip the mic and confess to a crowd of strangers, I can feel the weight of it burning my skin. Imagine his scent and his green as fuck eyes and that smile of his- so subtly, preciously broken- and I'm almost sure that I sway. I already like him so much that I realize I probably never stopped. Crooning it to a tiny slice of the world has made everything clear.

I wanted not to feel this way because I couldn't handle it before. Thing is...

I'm not even certain if I can now.

Last line leaving me in a soft breath- because holy shit, I just admitted in flowery words that I wanna sleep with Arnold- I flee the stage with grace. Phoebe is supposed to be here and I spot her pretty quickly. My best friend tells me that I was amazing. More passionate than usual. And then a devilish smile dashes across her sharp, asian features as she leads me astray and then flees.

I gaze up (and remember that once upon a time I'd had to look down) at the trap Phoebe's set.

"Arnold?"

His name comes out in a rush. A punch to the gut I didn't anticipate. But what's with the look on his face? He stands there in all his unfair tallness, cornflower hair gently tamed, a severe sparkle in his eyes. There's no way-

"Um... Hi."

Arnold says it hesitantly but the grin that grows across his mouth as he looks at me lights up the room and the world and short circuits my bestilled little heart. Pathetic, I tell ya.

"What are you doing here? How did you even know about-?"

"Phoebe asked me to meet her here. I didn't know what to expect. Or that you weren't really expecting me."

"Oh." I blurt stupidly. Still stunned.

"Helga, that was amazing."

"R-really?"

"I couldn't take my eyes off of you. You were reeling everybody in." Arnold looks so damn fond. As if he can't decide whether to be proud or awed. "Are you going to read any more?"

"No," I shake my head, turning to note that they're about to resume letting people onstage. "I was just going to head home after that."

"Can I maybe join you? Make sure you get home safe?"

"If you want to?"

"I want to." It's a firm, silken declaration. Arnold is smiling at me with cheeks that tinge subtly in the dim cafe lighting. I nod. That's how we find ourselves padding along pavement beneath a star speckled sky. At first neither one of us says anything. There's so much churning between us that it makes my hair stand on end. What is he thinking? Does he know it was about him? He has to. Arnold isn't an idiot!

"So, you have any Siren's blood in you?" He asks with a chuckle.

"Well I didn't seem to ensnare any men at sea, so I guess not."

"How about Veela?"

My brow shoots up. "Harry Potter?"

"Oh, like you didn't read it too."

I have to laugh because he's right. I have read all six books. That's hardly the point, though.

"I'm trying to say you're talented without sounding like a wierdo. Not doing a very good job though. Can I... Ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Okay smart mouth. Can I ask you something else?"

"You just-"

"Who was the poem about?"

Somebody please call the fire department and tell them there's a fire on my face. There's no way I'm not red; the heat washing over me isn't much different than when I have too big a swallow of wine. I imagine a pan of powdered blush labeled 'Bashful Pinot.' I should copyright that.

"Why are you assuming it was about someone?"

"Well," he pauses only to cross a street with me, "it was pretty deep. Sounded honest if nothing else. Not like when you write about other people."

Inconveniently observant as hell. Oh, Arnold.

"Was it... To your ex?"

I almost choke. "NO. What the heck Shortman!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry or anything. Well that's bullshit. I am prying."

"Why?"

"Because if you liked someone I'd wanna know."

"I don't need you to baby me." My fists clench habitually.

I stare at Arnold as he quiets, the glow of streetlights casting shimmering lines of goldenrod onto blonde. He looks... disappointed? Frustrated?

"I'm not trying to baby you Helga."

"Look, I get that some of the stuff I've told you is... worrisome. But what are you saying, that you're going to act like a knight and protect me from bad guys or something?"

"That's not even close to what I meant."

I risk sounding like JB as I stop in my tracks, stamping a foot and demanding, "What do you mean?"

The look of Arnold then- a feral edge to his mouth but vulnerable tilt to his brows- forces a wild shiver through me that has nothing to do with the wintry air. He steps closer, eyes darting downwards and then settling on my face.

Arnold takes hold of my hand.

* * *

Helga's hand is warm and unbelievably soft.

A dainty wrist and fingers tipped with chipped white nails stiffen as I wrap my own larger hand around them. It's ridiculous how juvenile this feels; holding hands makes my stomach knot as if it were intimate to the highest degree. I wish. I can't even imagine what that would be like, because it crosses lines and draws them all over her in every curve and crease I'd press my lips to. This has to be either the beginning of more... Or more than enough. "This is what I mean." I answer quietly, pulling gently to get her to walk along with me. Helga follows but her hand remains limp.

"T-this isn't much of an answer, Arnoldo." She says in a notably softer tone. Her breath is coiling past painted lips in wisps of white that disappear into the breeze.

"Humor me."

I can feel hesitation bubbling around us, thick and uneasy. Any minute now she'll break away and tell me to get a grip. To my (pleasant) surprise she just grasps my hand and walks onwards without another word. What is it about snow that makes the world feel like it's slowing down? Like the only thing that exists is an isolated bubble of silence and sparkling white… and her.

"My house isn't much farther." Helga reminds me in a puff of white that dissolves into the winter air.

I grin despite myself. "You don't seem too happy."

"Yeah well you brought something up and left it hanging. That's a personal pet peeve of mine. I can't help it."

"Curiosity killed the cat, y'know."

She huffs. Haughty, yet dulled sweet around the edges. "Nymph got stuck in one of my drawers for an entire day. Doubt anything will happen to me just yet. We both might turn out to be immortal with our track records."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. We're here."

And we are, the two of us, staring at the front porch of her building side by side as if pulling apart will break something. That's when I feel it- a tiny squeeze to my hand before she lets go and starts up the wooden steps.

"I'll make you a deal."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not telling me who the poem was about so I'll only tell you part of what I mean."

"Oh come on! This is gonna bother me way more than it will you!"

"What makes you think that?" I wonder aloud as I ascend to Helga's level. Watch her face: those cold-bitten lips and her windswept bun and azure eyes that only look brighter surrounded by snow and shadows. She's something special. I've always known that. But now it's starting to show, and it's even more unbelievable than I could have ever predicted.

"You want to know what I meant?" I ask her again. Shoulders push back defiantly as she nods. No hesitation. Classic Helga.

I seize the moment and her hand and press my lips to it without ever taking my eyes off of hers. The skin there is warm and smells flowery.

"This is what I mean. Goodnight Helga."

I'm about a few feet away when I decide to turn around and ask for one last thing.

"And Helga? You're talent is amazing. No matter who it is that you're writing for, don't ever think of stopping okay?"

I don't look back at her.

But I want to.

* * *

 _Thanks for all of the reviews. They sincerely mean a lot to me! And thanks for bugging me on tumblr, haha._


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